The Rapture
by MockingbirdWings
Summary: The beginning of Baelish's plan takes a whole new course. He moves quietly, in the shadows, hitting straight to the core. While Sansa is enjoying her innocence and happiness, a simple unexpected meeting will change her life forever. After all, life is not a song.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: The time elapsed to move from one place to another has been decreased for the facilitation of the story.**

It was a loud thud that made Sansa wake up that morning. She tossed up in her bed, with her hand against her chest, breathing heavily.  
"It was only a thunder." Her young sister Arya muttered tiredly from her bed across the room.  
That made her calm down. She kept having nightmares about foreign guards attacking and taking over Winterfell. She laid back down and stared at the wooden ceiling for a long time, listening to the raindrops hitting the window roughly. Living in the North since she was born, she was used to such a bad weather. In fact, she had grown to love it somehow, even if she often dreamt of going south, to the capital, to all the handsome knights, the royal ladies, the King and the Queen.  
Her awakening had been abrupt and it was impossible to fall asleep again; though she couldn't say the same for her sister. Finally she decided to rise and get dressed in a light blue gown before heading to the hall downstairs to break her fast. Lady Catelyn, her mother, was there already, feeding herself pomegranate seeds.  
"Good morrow, mother." Sansa greeted her and took a seat at the table, filling her plate with lemon cakes immediately. They had always been her favourite and her mother never missed a chance to have some made for her.  
"Hello, Sansa." Catelyn replied calmly, smiling kindly at her daughter. Out of all her children, Sansa and Robb were the ones that looked like her the most; they had the Tully look, the auburn hair and the oceanic blue eyes. "Did the storm wake you, child?"  
Sansa simply nodded, as her mouth was already filled with a large bite of her first lemon cake. Soon the rest of her siblings joined them; Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Her half brother, Jon Snow, had gone to the Wall only a few months ago, to serve the Night's Watch. He was a bastard, a child her father had with some unknown woman, disgracing her mother. But Jon was a good young man and she loved him all the same, just like all her siblings, no matter how different they were from one another. Her father, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, was currently visiting Jon at the Wall.  
"Mother, can I go to the godswood to pray when the rain stops?" Sansa asked before wiping her mouth with a napkin. She had been taught to be well mannered since she was three years old.  
"Praying is stupid." Arya mumbled while poking her lemon cake.  
"Arya!" Sansa gasped.  
"What? It is." Her little sister snapped.  
"Enough, both of you. We can go to the godswood later, Sansa." Catelyn glared at both of her daughters. Born with the same blood but growing up so differently.  
"No, I want to go alone. I am old enough." Sansa complained.  
"It's dangerous in the woods, sister." Robb entered the conversation while chewing a piece of bread.  
"Not the godswood, people respect that." She replied to him right away and gave her mother a pleading look. Lady Catelyn's only weakness was her children; she was hoping that would be enough for her mother to do her the favour.  
Catelyn sighed. "All right. Promise me to be careful and not take long or I will send guards to bring you back."  
Sansa giggled and kissed her mother's cheek quickly prior to standing up from the table. "Thank you, mother." She gave Arya a victorious glance before she straddled off, heading back to her room. She sat by the window with her comb and brushed her hair. Slowly and carefully, just like her mother had shown her. _One day I will be living in a large castle and I will have a handmaiden to brush my hair for me_, she thought proudly. How she dreamt of that day. She would wed a handsome prince and they would make beautiful babies together. They would be happy and they would rule their castle, just like in the stories.  
The rain had stopped by the time she finished brushing her long, auburn hair. There would be mud outside so for that she wore her boots and threw a dark purple cloak over her shoulders. When she returned downstairs, the hall was empty. Outside she could spot Robb trying to teach Bran how to shoot arrows with a bow; Rickon and Theon Greyjoy were accompanying them. Arya was probably messing around somewhere close to them but Gods only knew where her younger sister ever was. Sansa wrapped her cloak more tightly around her figure and took off; now that the rain had stopped, the citizens of Winterfell were outside again flowing in the streets.  
Soon she had left the castle behind her and she headed towards the godswood. Her steps were quiet as she was walking upon the wet fallen leaves of the weirwood trees…and finally, she arrived at her destination. Next to a very small, shallow lake stood the Heart Tree, with its crimson red leaves and its pure white trunk. Sansa sat on a rock next to it and stared at the carved face on the tree with amazement. The Old Gods of the Forest. She closed her eyes and listened to the light breeze blowing, tossing her auburn locks behind her shoulders. She used to pray in her mother's company, even though she had different Gods. After all, the wishes stay the same, no matter what Gods they are referring to. Health and happiness for all her family members, peace for the Seven Kingdoms, mercy from the Gods. That's what she had been taught to pray for. That's what she would have prayed for that day as well, if the sound of a branch cracking hadn't broken the utter silence. She jumped and gasped in shock, quickly looking over her shoulder.  
"Who's there?" she said in a trembling voice.  
Silence fell again. _Maybe it was an animal_, she thought, _or Arya and Bran who are trying to scare me_. But they never visited the godswood, not even to play pranks on her.  
"Arya? This is not funny!" she yelled, hoping for an answer; but it was only a false hope.  
The wind blew, making a few red leaves float in the air and settle down on her lap. She was about to shake them off of her when she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from behind her.  
"They look congenial with your hair."  
Sansa stood up quickly and turned around, to face the stranger that was standing a few metres away from her. She had never seen him before. He had short, black hair, with a few silver streaks. He had grey-green eyes, enigmatic and intense as they were staring at her, and a short beard. He was wearing a dark grey tunic and a black cloak, matching his hair and his sharp, mysterious features. His acute gaze was making her uncomfortable.  
"Who are you?" She desperately hoped her fear wasn't showing.  
Her eyes met his, noticing how a hint of a smirk crept on his features. _He can see right through my affright_, she thought and shivered.  
"Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to frighten you." He took a step towards her but she backed away. He seemed amused by her cautious reaction. "My name is Petyr Baelish. You must be Lady Sansa, one of Cat's daughters." He said finally, revealing his identity.  
Sansa nodded hesitantly. His knowledge frightened her even more. But somehow his name seemed familiar as well… She kept quiet, trying to avoid looking at him in the eyes again. When he took another step closer to her, she remained still. Her stomach was aflutter.  
"What are you doing here…" his dressing and stance suggested he was a lord; at least not a knight for sure. "…my lord?" she cleared her throat and frowned, realising how stupid her question was. They were in the godswood, he could have come for only one thing; praying.  
At first he didn't answer. He only approached her even more but she was unable to take any more steps back; the little lake was right behind her. _He won't harm me, we are in the godswood…the Gods will have mercy. They will protect me_; she tried to make herself believe that but somehow it wasn't easy.  
"I came to see you."  
His answer took her aback. She didn't remember meeting him before, how could he possibly want to visit the godswood just to see her then? She felt the back of his hand brushing against her cheek ever so smoothly. She shuddered. She wanted to scream and run away but her terror kept her still.  
"You look just like her." She heard him whispering. _Does he mean my mother?_ It was known that she was like a young imagine of Catelyn. But how could he know…  
Suddenly, he turned away from her, managing a decent distance between them again. Only then she dared to lift her gaze and give him a confused, questioning look.  
"Your mother and I, we were childhood friends." He stated, tracing his fingertips along the white trunk of a weirwood tree. He wasn't looking at her anymore. _Is this a good chance to run? _"I dare say I had dreamt we would be more than that."  
That was when Sansa remembered. One morning, while breaking her fast, her mother had narrated her a short story from her childhood back in Riverrun, where her and her sister, Lysa, had fed cakes of mud to their friend Littlefinger. Sansa was curious about that nickname and so her mother had explained to her that his real name was Petyr Baelish but her brother, Edmure, had given him that nickname because he was small and he came from the Fingers. Feeling proud of her memory, Sansa almost let herself smile…but then she remembered she wasn't alone.  
"So you have come to Winterfell to visit my mother, my lord?" She felt more at ease now. He was Catelyn's friend. Or used to be… _I trust my mother's judgement, don't I? _She pressed her lips together, uncertain of whether she should fear him or not. Meeting his piercing grey-green gaze made her shiver. Instead of answering her question, he flashed her an enigmatic smile.  
"Do you like praying, Lady Sansa? Do the Gods help you?" he asked her as he knelt beside the lake and grazed its surface with his hand.  
"I guess…" she blushed, realising how unsure she had sounded. She watched the small waves soothing across the water. Once they disappeared, she felt like his reflection in the water was watching her. "The Gods protect and grant mercy to us all." She continued, repeating the words she had been taught to say since she was a child.  
He chuckled and stood up. "Of course they do."  
_Is he being sarcastic?_ She pondered. She crossed her arms, feeling uneasy due to how close to her he was again.  
"Do you ever pray to the Gods, my lord?" She met his eyes reluctantly. He was already staring at her, stroking his short beard in thought.  
_Why is he looking at me like that? _She didn't dare to think that what she saw in his eyes was enchantment or even amazement.  
"The Gods and I don't get along so well, I have found." He admitted with a light shrug.  
That surprised her. Never before had she met someone who didn't believe in the Gods…or at least someone who didn't pray. She had always thought of it necessary; how could the Gods have mercy on someone who didn't ask for it? If they provided someone with mercy just like that, then what was the point in praying? In the end, did it change anything?  
She rubbed her arms awkwardly. The breeze had become chillier and tiny raindrops had started falling. It would be better if she returned, or else she would have to deal with her mother's concern and rage.  
"The rain is starting again." _That is only an excuse…right? _"I'd better return to the castle." She attempted to walk past him but he grasped her arm, making her gasp. His grip was gentle but it took her aback nevertheless.  
"It was a pleasure meeting you." _Was it? _She felt his palm sliding down her arm slowly till it reached her hand. He took it and brought it to his lips, pressing them against it. They felt soft…but cold.  
She swallowed thickly; his kiss made her skin tingle.  
"Have a good day, my lord." She mumbled and walked away after he let go of her hand.  
She had put a few metres behind her when she heard him speaking again.  
"Lady Sansa?"  
She turned around, dreading what he might want this time…he stood in the same position she had left him, with a sly smirk taking over his mysterious features.  
"It would be wise not to tell anyone about our meeting." He suggested with an arch of his eyebrows.  
_Why would he want that? He was my mother's friend._ Then again she didn't know how that friendship had ended. After all, did she really want to know? She simply nodded and straddled off, treading into the godswood with haste. She didn't look back.  
By the time she reached the castle of Winterfell the rain had become heavier. Her wet scarlet hair and her dress were sticking to her body. She avoided talking to any of her siblings when she arrived home. She went to her room straight away and changed into a dry white gown. With a cloth she dried her hair as well and finally collapsed on her bed.  
Behind her closed eyelids she could see a man in a black cloak…


	2. Chapter 2

The days passed by but the dark stranger wasn't forgotten; after all, how can we escape those who have the power to sneak into our minds? Sansa would lay in bed at night, remembering how his cold skin felt against her cheek. He had frightened her. He had come to her in peace and had started a war with her sanity. One night she woke up screaming, after a nightmare where he was drowning her in the small lake in the godswood. Arya threw a pillow at her, telling her to shut up. It was her mother though, who came in the room and comforted her in her warm embrace.  
"Tell me stories from your childhood, mother." Sansa had begged her as they were sitting together in the dark.  
"It's too late for that, Sansa. Go back to sleep." Her mother's calm tone always managed to soothe all her troubles. She often wondered how Lady Catelyn always managed to seem so tranquil.  
"Please. They help me sleep." Indeed they did. But not this time; she was only searching for an excuse to hear more of her mother's childhood; to hear her speaking more of the obscure man she had met in the woods.  
"Very well."  
Catelyn narrated to her about one time when she had gone with Lysa and Petyr to the river. They were practicing kissing with him when it started raining and their gowns ended up all muddy. Lord Hoster Tully, her father, only scolded Petyr, accusing him of inducing them to go to the river. Petyr had accepted the blame, since it kept her and her sister out of trouble. _He was a sly and clever boy_, Catelyn said, _but also brave and caring_. Usually after a story Sansa had dozed off; not this time though.  
"Mother? What happened to Petyr? Where is he now?" The question she wanted to ask from the beginning; but she had to ease into the matter or her mother would suspect something…but Catelyn suddenly appeared troubled and melancholic_. Did I ask for too much?  
_"My friendship with Petyr had an unfortunate ending, child. I will tell you another time." She tried to move but Sansa shook her head. _No, don't leave now. Not when I am about to learn all I need to know.  
_"Please tell me mother, I'm not tired." She begged but her words were no use.  
"But I am, Sansa. Try getting some rest." Her mother kissed her forehead and left the room, leaving her upset and disappointed. _What could she mean by unfortunate ending? _Sansa sighed and fluttered her eyes shut, only to see him again behind her closed eyelids. _What's wrong with me?  
_She didn't visit the godswood again for the whole week. She had other, greater worries. Robb's name's day had arrived and her father hadn't returned from the Wall, though he had promised he would be there for the feast. Maester Luwin had sent a raven to the Wall but the only response he got was that Lord Stark had left two nights ago.  
Nevertheless, Lady Catelyn decided to go through with the feast, as it was an important day for her eldest son. All citizens of Winterfell gathered at the largest hall of the castle. The Stark family was sat at the biggest, main table whereas the rest were spread across the room, at smaller tables.  
"This is not right. Father should be here." Arya complained and stabbed the piece of meat on her plate with her fork.

For once, Sansa couldn't disagree with her. She missed their father. He wasn't one to particularly enjoy feasts but his plain presence would have given the room a different essence. A sense of safety and utter serenity. She sighed and let her gaze to roam around the hall. A couple of girls who practiced sewing with her were seated across the room, whispering in each other's ear. She envied them. She only had Arya on her right and Robb on her left but he was always standing up and wandering among the tables, making toasts with each family. Next to Robb sat Lady Catelyn, preoccupied with admiration for her eldest son and making sure every table was served well and correctly.  
Sansa took a small sip of her cup of wine. No wonder everyone in the hall would end up drunk by the end of the night; but not her, her mother never allowed her to drink more than one cup. _I should go talk to the girls_, she thought and casted her oceanic pools towards them again. They didn't even seem to notice she was missing from their usual company. She didn't have time to worry about that as she caught glimpse of someone sitting at the corner of the room. Alone, dressed in black…a black cloak, black hair…no, it couldn't be. It was him. _And he is looking at me?_ No. Not her. Sansa felt her hands shaking as she turned her head and realized it was her mother he was looking at_. If he wanted to keep his presence a secret, why would he come here? Why would he do something so reckless? Why would he force me to see him again…  
_She shuddered and didn't even notice how hard she was squeezing her fork. Her knuckles turned white.  
"What in the Seven Hells has gotten into you?" She heard her sister saying, in her usual exasperated tone; but her voice sounded like it was coming from far far away.  
She released the folk and tried to focus on her food. _Maybe he is not truly there, maybe my dreams got to me too much._ She didn't manage to control herself for long. She raised her gaze from her plate and looked at him. He hadn't moved from his position. The only difference was that this time, he was staring right at her. The instant eye-contact made her blood rush to her cheeks, colouring them with a scarlet shade. He smirked at her, in such a sly manner that it made her swallow thickly. He pressed a forefinger to his lips, as if to silence her. He was asking her to keep quiet about his presence…_why should I keep doing this, just because he is asking me to? _She managed to compose herself and look away from him, or else her hands would never stop shaking. She turned to her mother who was currently glaring at Robb; he and Theon Greyjoy had already drunk too much for her standards.  
"Mother, who is that at the corner, next to the door?" she asked twice. The first time her voice sounded too weak and soft for her mother to hear.  
"Who, child?"  
"Right there…"  
But he wasn't there anymore for her or anybody else to see. Sansa froze and quickly searched the crowd with her eyes. He was nowhere to be found.  
"Never mind." She bit her bottom lip in shame for disturbing her mother for unnecessary reasons.  
"What did they put in your wine?" Arya laughed at her but she couldn't find the strength to answer to her.  
Her head had begun spinning but it wasn't the wine; it couldn't be. She hadn't even finished her cup. Perhaps he truly hadn't been there after all. _But it felt so real…  
_She rested her hands neatly on her lap and struggled to push him away from her thoughts. The girls were forgotten and so were Arya's mocking sayings. The evening went on and eventually people began leaving but she didn't feel any less ill at ease.  
"Mother, may I be excused?" she finally found the courage to ask. It was her duty to stay, as a family member of the one celebrating; but she couldn't. All the time she could feel those grey eyes watching her, coveting her…and yet he was nowhere to be seen.  
"Are you feeling unwell, Sansa?" her mother asked her placidly.  
She nodded in response and, thankfully, got the permission to be excused. She stood up carefully and straddled among the crowd till she could finally leave the hall. With her hands folded, she walked through the long corridor. She could feel something moving in the shadows, as the flames of the torches on the walls danced in an obscure, mysterious rhythm. She shivered and quickened her steps. _Arya was right. Probably the wine was too strong.  
_"Leaving so soon, my lady?"  
Her feet resisted taking her any further. She remained as still as a mountain, staring straight ahead at the darkly dressed man who stood a few metres away from her, as if born by the shadows.  
"What…what are you doing here?" she only managed to mumble. A foolish question. One he didn't bother answering. He only took a couple of steps towards her but she backed away. _Are we going to play this game again?  
_"I will call the guards." His chuckle made obvious how she failed to sound threatening.  
"You could. But you won't, will you?" He sounded so certain. _But how could he know? I should just…  
_Her mind was working feverishly, filled with questions about his presence, about his purpose. Her heartbeat was so fast and loud in her ears that she could barely hear his footsteps anymore as he walked even more towards her. The more steps she took backwards the closer he came. Her back ended up hitting the cold, stony wall. Her breath hitched; she had to rub her hands together to stop them from trembling. Fear had consumed and paralyzed her. He stopped right in front of her and placed a hand against the wall, right next to her head. He was "wearing" a malevolent smirk, one that didn't reach his empty, emerald eyes. _Why does he seem so amused?_  
"I trust you haven't told anyone about our little meetings. Though, you did try tonight." So he had truly been there. He knew she would tell her mother so he disappeared, slyly and quickly.  
She avoided looking at him in the eyes; instead she stared at his cloak blankly, noticing a silver pin fastened on his tunic, one she hadn't seen the other time. From the lines carved on it she could tell it was a mockingbird. Confused about what exactly it meant, she decided to better close her eyes tightly.  
"I haven't told anyone…please…I won't, I promise." Her voice was quivering uncontrollably. So did her body when she felt his warm breath against her cheek. _What is he doing? _She had heard stories about girls who had lost their maidenheads by force and then nobody wanted to wed them. _This can't be my fate. I will call the guards._  
But she didn't get a chance to.  
"You look rather beautiful tonight, Sansa." The use of her name surprised her. They barely knew each other but he was acting as if they were familiar for years…and intimate?  
"I…" Nothing else came out of her mouth. No words could be found. She wanted to push him away and leave but her terror had crippled her.  
She felt something soft brushing along her jaw-line. _Is it his hand? _She opened her eyes, only to realise he had leaned so close that it was his lips that she was feeling. A smooth, tantalizing sensation that sent chills down her spine.  
"Please…" she breathed out. _Please don't stop. _Her own thoughts made her upset. She tried to squirm but his free hand grasped her hip and held her pinned to the wall. He was kissing her neck, slowly but ruthlessly, and he began leaning against her. She lifted a hand and placed it on his shoulder, feebly trying to push him away. His kisses were making her skin tingle. _Do I really want this to end? _Yes. He was going to take her by force, every second that passed by made her even more certain of that. She was about to yell for the guards, as she should have done from the first moment she saw him, when his mouth suddenly covered hers, banning her from speaking. Swallowed down by his lips, her scream sounded more like a moan of pleasure instead. He had a sweet taste, of wine and mint. He feasted on her lips hungrily, as if some kind of unknown fierce passion had taken over him. But she didn't respond; she couldn't respond. She gripped his cloak, trying to push him away. He seemed to understand her struggle so he pulled away, leaving them both breathless. She opened her eyes but what she saw took her aback. He was staring at her but his expression was nothing she expected. He seemed amazed, dazed perhaps…he licked his lips and stepped away from her. He didn't say another word. He only felt his mouth with his fingertips and walked away hastily, soon leaving her alone in the dark corridor.  
Her chest was heaving fast, though she was trying to catch her breath. Involuntarily, she touched her lips, just like he had done before he left. They were wet, warm and swollen by his hungry kissing. The shadows began surrounding her, drowning her, as black as his hair and cloak, as dark as his grey-green eyes that had stared right through her mind and left poison behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Every night he would return. His hands would be all over her, his lips…_This needs to stop…THIS NEEDS TO STOP! _she thought every time she tossed up from her bed after such a dream. Her thoughts were screaming inside her head, deafening her.  
"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" Arya asked her one night and sat on her bed with her. In the dark it was hard to tell whether her sister looked concerned or annoyed; and yet something in her voice was different. She wasn't teasing nor mocking her. She was trying to comfort her.  
"I'm having these dreams…" Sansa began but her voice broke. She couldn't tell her about the dark stranger. If she did, their whole family would find out eventually.  
"What dreams?" Arya insisted and leaned her shoulder against her sister's.  
"About…about father." She lied. Four more days had passed since the feast and still no sign of their father. Castle Black had sent some of their men after him, in case they found any tracks; but no news had reached Winterfell, if there were any at all.  
Arya fell in silence. They were all scared about Lord Eddard's fate. If there was something bad to happen to him, it would be Robb who would take his place as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Lady Catelyn prayed for her husband every day and night; Sansa felt ashamed for not doing the same but her fear had kept her away from the godswood. _It would be normal if I had dreams about father…but I don't. What's wrong with me?  
_She felt Arya wrapping her arms around her and sighing. She couldn't remember the last time they had had a moment like this…_and still, I lied to her.  
_"Our father will return. You'll see." Arya sounded so certain and yet her words were only based on hope. Isn't that what we all have in the end; hope?  
Eventually her sister returned to her bed and they both went back to sleep_. I will visit the godswood on the morrow and pray for my father's return, _Sansa promised to herself and gripped her pillow before drifting off to sleep.  
She got up when the first rays of sunlight invaded the room. She changed into a casual light purple gown and sat by the window to brush her long auburn hair. She watched the streets of Winterfell beginning to come back to life as people were just waking up and returning to their daily work. Then, she caught glimpse of her mother and her brother Robb at the gates, discussing with a couple of horse riders who soon after exited the walls of Winterfell and vanished into the fog. When she went downstairs to break her fast, Lady Catelyn and Robb had returned.  
"Who were those riders?" she asked hesitantly, after a long moment of silence between all of them. Was it because of grief? Because of concern and fear? She couldn't tell.  
It was her brother who answered to her.  
"We sent six of our best riders to go North towards the Wall and search for father." Robb's composure during hard times was a gift he had gotten from their mother.  
Sansa nodded and focused back on her lemon cake, making a successful attempt to suppress a sigh that was threatening to escape. Deep down, a voice was telling her that if her father was to be found, it would have happened already; but she refused to believe that. She could not believe that. Her father had survived the rebellion against the Mad King. Him and Robert Baratheon, who was now King of the Seven Kingdoms, had ended Aerys Targaryen's dynasty.  
She found herself having lost her appetite. She folded her hands politely on her lap and looked at her mother; Lady Catelyn was silent that morning. But Sansa could see that behind her mask of tranquility hid one of the greatest fears; the fear of loss.  
"May I be excused? I wish to visit the godswood, to pray for father." She announced and stood up from the table when Catelyn gave her a nod of agreement.  
Unlike the last time she had visited the godswood, the weather that day was sunny. The beams of bright sunlight fell upon the red leaves of weirwood trees, colouring them with a darker scarlet shade. Her dainty fingers would trail along the trunks of the trees as she walked amongst them. It was a beautiful day; if only it could also be embraced with good news of her father's fate.  
She arrived at the praying spot, next to the small lake whose surface was reflecting the trees encircling it; but that didn't catch her attention. She had frozen in her tracks, staring at the man who sat on a rock next to the Heart Tree. He was staring at her as well, his eyes as green as their surroundings.  
"I thought you would never come." She heard him muttering.  
Petyr Baelish patted the rock he was sitting on. His sharp features were graced with an oracular smirk. "Join me." He added.  
_Does he actually think I will join him? _Sansa didn't move. She crossed her arms over her chest, in a defensive position. _Should I run away?  
_"Are you following me?" she asked, surprised at how dynamic her voice sounded in comparison to all the other times she had come across to him.  
He chuckled in amusement, revealing his white perfectly shaped-teeth. She avoided looking at his lips; the lips she kept dreaming of; the lips that had touched hers and had made it impossible to forget how they tasted.  
"What do you want?" she asked again, since he didn't seem to plan on answering her previous question. His intense gaze was beginning to make her feel uneasy.  
"Come here." He patted the space on the rock next to him again. This time he sounded more demanding and serious, though his smirk didn't fade away.  
Reluctance took over her. _What could he do to me? Kiss me. Touch me. No, he will respect the godswood…won't he? I must be brave. Starks are brave. _She inhaled deeply, gathering all her courage and step by step, she made her way towards him and sat down, formal and composed.  
Her pale blue eyes met his grey-green ones. There was mockery and mischief sparkling in his pupils. Why is he always like this? _Almost always. He wasn't like this when he kissed me.  
_"Why don't you want me to tell my mother you are here?" She kept showering him with questions, even though he wasn't willing to answer any of them. This time, though, his expression changed. She realised she had finally spoken the right words.  
"I'm not welcome here." He plainly stated and pressed his lips together in a thin line.  
"Why?" she instantly replied. Her scarlet brows furrowed together, forming a soft frown on her forehead. Her question seemed to amuse him even more since his smirk widened.  
"Cat and I haven't spoken in years, I'm afraid." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug.  
_Vague answers; vague answers like mother gave me when I asked her about him. _She decided against asking him again why. She fell in silence and contemplation, avoiding his enticing emerald gaze. She watched the surface of the water instead, as the light breeze soothed it with small waves.  
"I don't understand…" she began, basically thinking out loud. "Why are you here? What do you want?" She shook her head, feeling a hint of frustration rising in her chest. _Why am I here?_  
Sansa felt both of his hands grasping one of hers; immediately, she cast her eyes back on him. His touch was gentle so she didn't try to pull her hand back just yet. _Do I even want to pull it back?_ Her thoughts made her shudder.  
"Have you ever left Winterfell, Sansa? Have you ever travelled?" Again, he avoided answering her questions. That infuriated her even more, though following the example of her mother, she continued appearing serene.  
"No. Never." _What does he even care?_  
"Do you want to?"  
She nodded. All those dreams of the capital, the South, the knights and the kings and queens…so many dreams; so many illusions. He seemed pleased by her confession.  
"The world is large and full of opportunities. But are they enough?"  
"Enough?" Her frown deepened. His words confused her. She shifted in her position but her hand was still captivated in his hold.  
"It doesn't matter what we want. Once we get it, then we want something else." He explained didactically.  
She didn't respond. _Why is he telling me any of this?_ She felt ill at ease and pulled her hand back without much effort. _I should be praying for father. He has to leave._  
"So what is it you will be praying for today?" He asked, as if he had just read her thoughts. She shivered and rubbed her hands together uncomfortably. Mockery had returned in his tone.  
"My father is missing." She admitted. Her voice was weak again; quivering.  
In that moment, she could swear to the Old Gods and the New that his eyes gleamed brightly.  
"So I've heard." He responded vaguely.  
"Is that why you are here?" The timing of his appearance along with her father's disappearance was fitting; though she couldn't imagine why the two events could possibly be connected. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.  
He gave her a puzzling look and brought a hand upon her cheek. Her skin tingled, as if his sudden touch had set it on fire.  
"Such innocence." He muttered. His grey-green eyes pierced through hers.  
_I have to stay focused. I have to stay calm. He won't…  
_Her thoughts didn't have a chance to be complete. Before she could back away, he had leaned in and his lips were on hers, swallowing her words, clouding her mind. She gasped at the contact; tempting but also intimidating. She turned away from his seductive kiss, forcing him to pull back.  
"What are you doing?" She pressed the back of her hand against her lips and stood up from the rock so she could take a few steps away from him.  
"I dare say you are more beautiful than your mother ever was." She heard him saying in a surprisingly soft voice. _Does he think that gives him permission to kiss me? No. But does he even need permission?  
_"I don't know what happened between you and my mother. I don't know why you are here, why you are following me, why you are…" _Kissing me._ She didn't dare saying it out loud. "Please, stay away from me. Please." She had gathered all her courage in order to speak such words to him. His enigmatic nature troubled her. Her thoughts about him troubled her.  
A moment of silence followed. She had to look at him, to understand how he felt; but his features gave nothing away. The only difference was that his smirk had faded. He nodded and stood up as well. The sunlight reflected on the silver mockingbird pinned on his collar. _If I ask about it, it will only give him a reason to stay longer.  
_"I hope the Gods will hear your prayers, Sansa." His tone was so serious that she could almost believe he actually meant that. "We will meet again." He added as he walked past her.  
She turned around so her pale blue gaze could follow his elegant figure. His dark clothing made contrast with their colourful surroundings; like a wolf among sheep. He paused a few metres away from her and gifted her one of his most malevolent smirks so far, making another chill go down her spine.  
"Stay away." She repeated. She tried to speak calmly but her voice trembled. He seemed amused by it and elevated his eyebrows. He nodded and strolled into the forest until her sight lost him.  
Only then could Sansa feel herself breathing normally again. _Will he truly stay away? _Their meetings so far had done nothing more than confuse her, scare her and give her nightmares…and perhaps something more than that, which she refused to admit to herself. She returned to the rock by the Heart Tree and stared at the curved face upon the trunk. Her eyes fluttered shut. She emptied her mind of any other concerns; now she was alone, in the company of the Old Gods, the ones her father also believed in and prayed to. _Protect him, she thought. Protect him and bring him back to me._

By the time the sun had set, clouds had begun gathering in the sky, preventing the last rays of sunlight to touch the ground. The rain started falling when the Stark family was having dinner.  
"Even the sky cries for our father." Bran murmured and poked a piece of meat on his plate with his fork.  
"Don't say that, Bran." Rickon, the youngest, complained. Sorrow was sparkling in the little boy's eyes.  
_Such innocence, _Sansa heard Petyr Baelish's voice in her mind. She couldn't help but notice the glances Robb exchanged with their mother; if there had been any news from father, they would have said it, no matter how hard it would be. No wonder the more the days passed, the less hope grew. Robb would need to start preparing for the alternative scenario where he rules Winterfell and the North, in case their father never returns. Sansa picked up her cup of wine and gulped down all its contents hastily. The dinner was quiet, as if they were grieving already of a loss they couldn't be certain about. When they were all done eating, Bran chased Rickon around the table whereas Robb carried Arya around on his shoulders. Sansa and Catelyn were left alone sitting at the table.  
"Do you think father will be found?" the red-haired maiden dared to ask her mother.  
The candles' flames were dancing inside Catelyn's pupils, colouring her eyes with a darker azure tint. She reached over the table and touched her daughter's small, pale hands; a clear act of comfort.  
"We will find Ned."  
Such words could be spoken so easily and yet Sansa found a sad truth behind them; her mother truly believed them. Her hope, her denial, they wouldn't let her despair. She was drowning in a sorrowful serenity, just like Arya; just like all of them.  
Sansa fiddled with her auburn locks. A queasy feeling had begun taking over her. _This time I must have drunk my wine very fast indeed. _She left the hall before her other siblings and went upstairs to her room, to undress and tuck in bed. Sleep came to her almost right away.  
That night the stars were missing from the sky. That night dreams were missing from her sleep. The war that Petyr Baelish had started within her mind had ended; but the one he had started in reality was just beginning. When Sansa woke up, her life in Winterfell was long gone.


	4. Chapter 4

She could no longer see the dark chestnut colour of the wood her ceiling was made of in her room in Winterfell; instead, she could only see black stone. Unfamiliar and cold. She would have sat up quickly but she was unable to. Her limbs felt sore, as if she hadn't moved for days. In terror, she turned her head only to see strange woman sitting beside her bed. She was fat, middle-aged, with black hair falling on her shoulders. Sansa's pale blue eyes widened because of the lack of recognition; yet, the woman smiled.  
"We thought you would never wake up, child."  
_We? Who is we?  
_"My name is Kella." The woman continued and moved the pillow below Sansa's head, helping her sit up.  
The ease in the woman's tone was what worried Sansa the most. _She speaks like she knows me. Like I know her._ Her chest heaved up and down, controlling the deep breaths that she was taking. Anxiety, fear, she shouldn't let them win. _I am a Stark, I can be strong and brave.  
_"Where am I?" She managed to ask in a trembling voice.  
Kella bit her lip and glanced at the door at the other side of the room.  
"It's not my place to tell you any of that, child." She stroked Sansa's auburn tresses and gave her another wry smile. "Come. You must be hungry."  
Sansa shuddered and pulled the blanket higher on her body. She was still wearing her usual night gown. _What has happened?  
_"I don't want to get up." She whispered weakly but Kella was already pulling the covers off of her.  
"There is a collection of gowns in the wardrobe, I trust a few will be to your liking, m' lady." The woman added before stepping away and exiting the room.  
Sansa's hands were shaking as she supported herself on the mattress and sat with her legs hanging off the edge of the bed. The air was different; less cold and it smelled differently. She couldn't recognise it. She looked around the poorly furnished room. Apart from the bed, there was the wardrobe, a night-table, a mirror, a desk and a chair, all of them in darker colour than she was used to. Her first attempt to stand up was a failed one; her sore legs wouldn't hold her so she collapsed back down. With another, more careful try she managed to stand up fully on her feet and make her way to the wardrobe. Just like Kella had said, only a few dresses were to her liking. The size seemed proper, though pretty much all the gowns were coloured with dull shades of green, grey or black. She slipped out of her Winterfell night-gown and changed into a light green one, for the time being. _Until I realise what is going on and where I am…  
_She checked herself out in the mirror; green was a colour she wasn't wearing often but she couldn't deny it was going well with her pale blue eyes and her auburn hair; a harmony of colours. She huffed, realising that there was no comb around her in the room. She used her fingers to brush her hair until it looked decent. She took a deep breath. _I have to stay brave.  
_She left the room. She had to descend a staircase in order to arrive at a small hall. There was a large table in the centre, already served with morning dishes. There were two goblets of wine so she assumed Kella would join her sooner or later and give her a good explanation; her mind, so rich with dreams and tales, was failing in providing her with one. She took a seat at the table and folded her hands delicately on her lap, her azure gaze roaming around her unfamiliar surroundings.  
She had been waiting for quite some time but no one would join her; therefore, she decided to go ahead with eating. Only when she picked up the fork did she realise how her stomach was screaming to be fed; as if she hadn't eaten for days. She filled her plate with two pieces of mince pie and devoured them quickly. Her throat felt dry so she also took a few sips from the goblet of wine. Her stomach was almost full when she heard a door behind her opening, the old wood creaking due to its oldness. She turned around to see if it was Kella who at last decided to join her…but no, it wasn't Kella. Sansa felt the colour draining from her cheeks and her face going pale. Her stomach turned and she felt like she was going to be sick. Her body urged her to stand up, to either run away or slap him across the face; but before she could do either his hands were on her shoulders, keeping her down on her chair.  
"Forgive my delay, sweetling, I'm afraid I was caught up in…business."  
His voice felt like loud drums in her ears. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, realising she hadn't been breathing in the past few seconds. He released her shoulders and took a seat at the table as well, next to her; only then she dared to look at him again. Dressed in a brown cloak, with a matching tunic and breeches, Petyr Baelish was staring at her, his grey-green eyes as deep as the ocean gleaming with amusement.  
"You must excuse my humble abode, I'm afraid I do not come from a large castle as you do." He wiggled his eyebrows and tuted. "You look pale, sweetling. Have some more wine." He refilled her goblet from a flagon of wine placed on the table.  
He pushed it towards her but she shook her head. More wine would definitely make her sick. She crossed her fingers on her lap and tried to steady her hands, preventing them from shaking further. Was it because of rage or because of fear? She swallowed.  
"Where am I?" She made a great effort to stop her voice from breaking.  
Such satisfaction was laced on his features that she wanted to stand up and smack him; that wouldn't be very lady-like. She pressed her lips together in a thin line. _I have to be self-collected, like mother.  
_"The Fingers, where I come from." He plainly replied with a shrug of his shoulders.  
_The Fingers…__four narrow peninsulas of the Vale of Arryn. That's a long way from home…  
"_But how…" She dared to meet his gaze. No wonder her pale blue eyes were filled with curiosity. _This can't be real…Soon I will wake up._  
"You'd be surprised at how even the modest men of the North accept a decent amount of money in return for their useful services." He took a sip of his goblet of wine.  
_He can see right through me.  
_"You drank wine during your last dinner in Winterfell. It made you tired and dizzy. Such a good opportunity to have someone smuggle you away, don't you think?" He arched an eyebrow. She could swear her curiosity was reflecting on his face as well. _He wants me to think…to understand his malevolent plans. _She wrapped her slender arms around her body and shuddered. Her gaze dropped to her food. _If I look in his eyes for a little while longer, I will scream.  
_"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was like a strangled sound. She had begun shaking. _I need to go home…  
_He chuckled and reached over to place a hand on her quivering arms. His touch was surprisingly warm and gentle.  
"You will find out in time. Let's enjoy this breakfast now, shall we?" His voice was grating but when their eyes met, he was smiling at her so widely she could almost believe it was genuine.  
"I'm not hungry anymore…I want to go home." Her auburn eyebrows furrowed. Was it the thought of home that gave her strength? "They will look for me. They will find me and my brother will have your head." _Have I already accepted that father is out of the picture?_  
"Perhaps…though considering how dutifully you handled the situation and didn't tell anyone about our meetings, do you truly believe someone will look for you here?" He cocked his head to the side.  
_He is mocking me._ The Fingers were a small, poor area no one cared about. It had no power, no profit, no wealth. No one would think anyone from there had a motive to snatch her away.  
"Then maybe I will run away." She stated in a steady tone.  
"By all means." His eyes were challenging. Only then did she realise his fingers were stroking her arm. "There is nowhere to go, sweetling. Your stay here won't be too long, I promise you. No harm will come to you."  
_But harm has already come to me_, she wanted to reply but stopped herself from doing so. She simply nodded. There wasn't much she could do for the time being. Yet the silence only encouraged him to continue his touches instead of words. His fingered trailed her arm, her shoulder and brushed against her neck. His skin was cold but how could it set hers on fire? She bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a whimper. He smirked.  
"Come, my lady. Let's take a walk outside."  
He stood up and walked towards one of the doors of the hall. He opened it and waited for her to join him. She was reluctant. _What am I supposed to do?_ Play along with his game and see where it leads. It was a dangerous game, kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North. _I will play along and work on a solution. _She followed him and together they strolled through a hallway until they reached a small open gate. The scenery she witnessed outside was unfamiliar; stony, treeless and gloomy. The wind was rough; she could hear it whistling. The further outside they went, the more she could feel the strong breeze slapping her face. They walked silently on a stony path. She was looking around, examining her new surroundings. There weren't many houses and even those that were actually there, they looked small and poor. He must have noticed her curious gaze so he made a comment.  
"The Fingers is the right place to be, if you are a rock."  
She wanted to smile at that statement but she held herself back.  
"All this belong to me by right. Strange isn't it? Some inherit the throne, some inherit the greatest castles in the Seven Kingdoms, and others inherit stones." He elicited a snorting laugh.  
"Some don't inherit anything." She murmured.  
"Clever girl." He seemed satisfied with her indication. "There is no power to seek if you are living at the Fingers."  
"And is it power you are seeking?" She quickly regretted asking that.  
He never answered. They both fell back in silence and continued their course on the path. Walking relieved the previous soreness she was feeling but it was also replacing it by tiredness. With a careless step, she stumbled on a stone and lost her balance. Everything happened in half a heartbeat. Before she would fall, his arms were suddenly around her, supporting her against him. Her hands landed on his chest and she tried to regain balance. She realised she had closed her eyes because of the fear of falling. She opened them again slowly and looked up at him. Their faces were so close that she could feel his breath against her features. The mockery and amusement had vanished from his expression; there was something else there now. Concern_? How dare I think that…He does not care.  
_Their eye-contact was becoming more and more intense so she had to break it. He released her from his hold, making sure she was steady again.  
"Mind your step."  
Those were the only words he spoke until they returned to his abode. She couldn't call it a castle but it was a much larger and more decent house than the other ones she had seen during their walk. He escorted her to her room and leaned against the doorframe when she sat down on her bed.  
"Kella will prepare a bath for you. It will help you relax." He seemed absent-minded. "I will see you later. I am sure there is more we need to discuss."  
Sansa nodded and watched him turning away and leaving. She was alone again, in an unknown land, with people she didn't know and trust. She stroked the fur of the blanket. It reminded her of the sigil of her House; a direwolf. She couldn't imagine how devastated her mother must have been when she found out her eldest daughter was missing. Robb would be furious…_but, but maybe father has returned by now? Maybe that could give them hope…_  
She felt her eyes flooding with tears but she refused to let them run down her cheeks. She sniffled and gripped the fur. _I want to go home. I shouldn't be here. Why did he bring me here…  
_A part of her wanted to hate him for what he had done, taking her away from her family and not even being clear about the reason why. But she kept remembering his face when he held her earlier. She had never seen him so unguarded, not even when he had kissed her.  
Kella joined her soon and the hot water as well as the flowery scent washed her troubled thoughts away.


	5. Chapter 5

Out of her still soaked hair fell several water-drops and traveled down her nape; she could barely feel them. Auburn tresses like fire and yet, cold as ice. Nonchalantly, she stroked the wooden surface of the desk and looked outside the small window. _This is my prison._ The view was as poor and empty as her heart. Her thoughts roamed to the North, pondering what her family was up to, what their plans were of finding her. She sighed. _He was right, they will never find me here.  
_Kella had left a while ago, after having helped her with her bath. Sansa looked over her shoulder; the door was unlocked but what would be the point of running? She was supposed to become a princess, not some runaway girl that wandered the roads and forests in danger of being caught, killed or raped. She looked outside the window again and released a deep breath; he had said she wouldn't have to stay here for long. Did that mean he would take her back to her family…_and impress my mother? _That plan sounded too foolish for someone like him.  
After a while, Sansa heard the door creaking as it flung open. She didn't have to look to know who it was; his reflection on the window was clear enough. He didn't greet her; he only stepped inside and shut the door behind him. With every step he took, the floor crepitated. He must have stopped when he was right behind her chair. She watched his hand tracing the hollow of her neck; it made her shudder but she didn't react. His forefinger trailed her skin all the way up to her cheek and pressed against it, ever so gently. His thumb rested below her chin and he guided her head to tilt back so she would look up at him. She obeyed, though the oceanic blue eyes that met his grey-green ones were blank; or at least she tried to appear that way. He seemed to be studying her for a short moment before releasing her. He moved to stand right next to the desk so they could both see each other properly. A smirk had returned to his sharp features.  
"Kella used the right soap. Your hair smells like roses. It is rather fitting with the colour."  
She didn't know what to say to that. Therefore, noticing her silence, he averted his attention to another subject.  
"I am sure you have many questions. I trust I will not be able to answer them all, but we can give it a try, shall we, sweetling?" There was mockery in his tone but she had started to getting used to it.  
She simply nodded. So many questions and yet she didn't know where to start. He leaned against the desk, with his arms folded against his chest. Amused, he watched her trying to articulate her first question.  
"Um…" she bit her bottom lip. _Stop being so weak_, she scolded herself. _Look at him in the eyes._ And so she did. "How long will I be here?"  
He arched an eyebrow. No wonder he wasn't expecting this to be the first question. "A few days. Maybe a week." He responded easily.  
"Why am I here?" She managed to emphasise on the first word as much as possible.  
His lips parted and revealed his perfectly shaped white teeth. He was grinning so enigmatically that it made her shiver. She shifted on her chair, to ease out of her discomfort.  
"Do you know who our King is, sweetling? And his Hand?"  
It was Sansa who had to smirk sarcastically now. Even Arya had such essential knowledge.  
"King Robert of the House Baratheon and his Hand Jon Arryn." She answered nevertheless, to see where he was getting at.  
"Yes. King Robert has a son, Joffrey, who had grown to the age of getting betrothed and eventually wed." Petyr's eyes sparkled so brightly that she had to look down briefly.  
"I don't understand…" she began but he raised his hand and stopped her.  
"How would you feel if I told you that you are going to be a Queen?"  
Sansa's mouth opened but no words came out. She stared at him, in both surprise and disbelief. The puzzle started making sense, if only she put the pieces together correctly. She puffed in realisation of what he meant.  
"You are going to pretend you are the hero who found me? And offer me to wed Prince Joffrey?" She blinked, confused. "They will never believe you. You could be lying and I could be anyone."  
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yes. Therefore King Robert will summon your father to the capital to reassure your identity."  
His mention of her father took her aback. Infuriated, she tossed up from the chair. "My father is missing and you know that. I told you that." She tried to calm down her enraged breath but it was no use. She was new to such malevolent conspiracies but he seemed certain of the obscure paths they were going to cross."Did you have anything to do with his disappearance?"  
She must have started shaking since Petyr grasped her shoulders and steadied her. "Your father is going to return home soon. Surprisingly, I wasn't the one who wanted to harm him." _More vague words, _she thought. "He will be fine."  
Sansa's sight was blurry with tears when she looked up at him. _How can I trust him?  
_"You needn't worry about your father now, sweetling. Everything will be more clear to you, in time." With those words he seemed to be sealing their conversation on the matter for now. There were still loopholes that needed to be filled but she had to wait. She nodded and closed her eyes, swallowing down her anger. _Why is this happening to me? _His fingertips were wandering on her neck, on her cheek, on her lips but her emotional fatigue didn't let her react. Chills went down her spine when his icy lips pressed on the corner of her mouth and then her chin.  
"Why…" He silenced the rest of her words with his mouth on hers. His large hands held her cheeks and she heard his breath hitching at the contact. She savoured the familiar minty taste, just like the first time he had kissed her. It was more gentle now but nevertheless, she turned away after a short moment. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and kept her head bowed down. His wicked ways were conquering her innocence; his expert seduction made her weak to the knees and ill at ease at the same time. His look reflected his longing and hunger; that only scared her and made her shiver again. She wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive position.  
"What happened w…with you and my mother?" Her voice was shaky again. _Seven Hells!  
_"Sansa…"  
"You said I could ask you anything." A warm single tear rolled down her pale cheek. "You owe me that."  
His eyebrows furrowed but the mockery and amusement had vanished from his expression. He sat down on her bed and motioned to her to sit next to him. She shook her head but he insisted. Cautiously and reluctantly, she gave in and sat down. For a moment, he studied her carefully and she took the opportunity to do the same. Locks of silver would appear amongst his short black hair and the stubble that covered his chin and partly his cheeks. She had noticed that his eyes gleamed differently depending on the situation, like a mask that either fell or became one with his true face.  
"When I was eight, I was sent to Riverrun as a ward. My father was proud." He began so she had to jump out of her thoughts and listen to him; could this be a way to understand him better? "When living under the same roof, awkward situations seem to occur." He paused and he looked away from her. Was he referring to his feelings for her mother? _Could it be that after all these years, it was still troubling him? Perhaps even hurting him? "_Do you know that your mother was first betrothed with Brandon Stark? Your uncle."  
She nodded weakly. She couldn't help but notice that the corner of his mouth had curved in repulsion of the name he had just spoken of; or that's what she guessed.  
"I challenged him to a duel for her hand. I mean why not, I had read all the stories. The little hero always beats the big villain in all the stories." He chuckled. "We all do such foolish mistakes. In the end, she wouldn't even let him kill me. He left me with a scar to remember him by and off they went."  
Their eyes met again. His mask was on but somehow Sansa believed that he had spoken the truth. It was the truth that had created this mask; she could see that now.  
"I didn't see her again after that. I learnt about her wedding to Ned Stark." He shrugged. "I had dared to dream the future we could have and the heirs she would give me." His vain smile was back, covering all the emotions such a sentimental confession could arise. "I may not have earned her hand but your mother gave me a more precious gift; one women can give only once." He raised his hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheekbone.  
Such words took her aback. Her mother had always been too dutiful to ever give her maidenhead to someone she wasn't married to.  
"No…" She murmured, distracting herself from the touch of his hand. "No, she wouldn't do that."  
"And yet."  
She gaped at him blankly. _Could my mother have done such a thing? _She always said that Petyr Baelish had been like a little brother to her; nothing more. She set her disbelief aside and simply nodded, choosing to end their conversation there. From the window she could see that the sun was about to set in the west and hide until it was morrow. _My first day at the Fingers_, she thought. _Away from my family, feeling helpless, trapped in a plan that I didn't choose for myself._  
Soon after, he stood up from her bed and walked to the door. "Dinner will be served soon. I will see you downstairs." His toneless voice sent a fearful shiver down her spine. He didn't expect an answer; he plainly walked out of her room, leaving her alone in the dim light of sunset.  
The spot on the bed on which he was sat was still warm. She felt the fur with her hand; if only his heart was just as warm. His past feelings for her mother didn't clear the image of his motive but at least it helped her earn a better understanding of his persona.  
Kella had luckily left her a brush. She used it to brush her hair until darkness started overcoming the day. Then, she descended to the hall, to find Petyr already seated at the table and Kella serving tonight's dish. It was a disk filled with lemon cakes that caught Sansa's immediate attention. Kella must have noticed how her expression changed; and no wonder so has he.  
"Lord Baelish knew you like lemon cakes, child." The woman said with a toothy smile. "Sit down, enjoy them."  
"That's enough." Petyr gave her a stern look, so the woman bowed and left the room. Only then did Sansa notice the paper he was holding. There was a seal upon it but she couldn't make out of which House it was; was it a stag?  
She sat down and filled her plate with two lemon cakes. She tried to focus on them and avoid looking at him; he kept rereading whatever was written on the paper while taking sips of his goblet of wine. The silence was frustrating and eerie but at least she had the opportunity to enjoy her meal. The familiar taste of lemons certainly felt pleasing and homey.  
"I have some news for you, sweetling." His sudden declaration almost made her jump. She took a gulp of wine to swallow down the bite that almost stuck in her throat and looked at him through the candlelight; it made his features seem more fierce and enigmatic.  
"Is…is it about my father?" She asked apprehensively but to her disappointment, he shook his head.  
"Gods, no." He snorted and rolled the paper closed. "It's news from the capital."  
Sansa raised her eyebrows with surprise. _Why should I care about news from the capital? Those are his plans, not mine._ His wide sinister smirk showed that he was deeply satisfied with those news.  
"Jon Arryn is dead."


	6. Chapter 6

Behind the mountains flickered the first rays of dawning sunlight. The horse's hoofs made splashing sounds as they buried in the mud with each step the mount took. The man had his face pressed against the horse's neck and he was barely holding on from its mane.  
"Halt! Who's there?" Ser Rodrik Cassel yelled from above Winterfell's Walls.  
The rider gave no answer. Considering the way he was hanging from the horse, he could as well be dead.  
Suspicious, the master-at-arms descended to the gate and drew his sword cautiously, approaching the horse along with two other guards.  
"Who is asking to enter?" He asked again with determination.  
The man tried to sit up on the horse's back but he only ended up falling off completely and collapsing to the muddy ground. The knights looked at each other, with curiosity as well as suspicion. Alone this time, Ser Rodrik neared and pressed his boot on the man's shoulder, to push him to lie on his back. His face was covered with dirt and bleeding cuts and a thick beard hid his chin and jaw. He had blacked out. Something about him though felt strangely familiar. The knight beckoned the other guards to help him carry the man inside the walls and take his horse to the stable. They laid the stranger in a resting chamber and washed his face with a wet cloth. In the candlelight, the familiarity was confirmed. It was Ser Rodrik who noticed it and pushed amongst the others, to kneel next to the sleeping man and thank the Old Gods. His eyes were widened with surprise and he yelped when the man opened his eyes weakly.  
"Lord Stark!"

Sansa woke up when the first beams of light invaded from her window. The sun was warmer there, and brighter. There were times back in Winterfell when she would get tired of the cold and crave the southern warmth. The Fingers certainly weren't like the capital or Highgarden or Dorne of course, but the difference was still felt; and yet she couldn't appreciate it. She rolled on her other side so her back was facing the window. She thought of her discussion with Petyr Baelish last night at dinner. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, was dead. Fever took him, he told her. The next closest friend to Robert Baratheon was her father. Petyr seemed certain that by now he would have returned to Winterfell and soon the King would pay him a visit, to offer him to be his Hand. She couldn't help but suspect his certainty but he claimed he knew what had happened and he would tell her when the time was right. All the secrets, all the mysteries and the lies, they were making it hard to adapt. _I wish father was here…he would keep me safe…  
_She didn't want to get out of bed and go through another day at that unfamiliar, dull place. _This isn't home._ She squeezed the pillow and buried her face in it. It was fluffy and it smelled fresh and clean. Another memory of Winterfell sneaked in; Lady Catelyn always made sure the sheets, the furs and the pillows were often cleaned and pleasantly scented.  
She had almost drifted off again when she heard a knock on the door. She had been expecting it sooner or later. Considering how Kella had served her so far, she would be up to help her get dressed and brush her hair; or was that too royal to be true?  
"Yes?" She mumbled and glanced at the door that creaked open.  
It wasn't Kella. It was him. A sudden blood-rush coloured her cheeks with a scarlet shade and she pulled the furs up to her chin immediately.  
"Lord Baelish." She muttered in surprise. She had decided that was the most decent way to address him. They weren't acquainted enough – or were they? – to call him by his first name and using his nickname would be rude. He was dressed differently today, just a pair of brown breeches and matching boots and a white tunic of which the top buttons were undone. His casual clothing made her blush more and look away. _What is he doing?  
_"Good morrow, sweetling. I trust you slept well?" He clasped his hands together and smirked; she could see it almost clearly from the corner of her eyes.  
She kept silent and nodded. Dressed in her nightgown and tucked in bed, she was feeling uneasy around someone who wasn't much more than a stranger to her; one that followed her in the godswood, one that kissed her and kidnapped her and told her about his past and plans for her, partly at least, but she was still in the process of knowing him.  
"I was wondering if you would like to join me for horse riding, after breaking your fast? You have been taught how to mount, yes?"  
She arched an eyebrow at him, taken aback by such an offer. _Is he going to pretend that I am not his prisoner? _She stretched her neck upwards so she could see him better. His sly smirk was there, distorting his features with malevolence.  
"Yes…I'd like to." It wouldn't be any use to reject his offer. After all, she had nothing else to do in this foreign to her land.  
"I will see you downstairs." Pleased with her agreement, he graced her with another quirky smile before departing and shutting the door behind him.  
_He could have just told me while we are breaking our fast…_  
Her cheeks were still burning when she got up from the bed. Kella didn't pay her a visit that morning. Perhaps Lord Baelish had found other tasks for her. Sansa brushed her hair and gazed out of the window. Every minute she spent away from home made her feel as if her heart was hardening. She changed into a black gown with grey laces and circular lines sewed on its fabric and descended to the hall.

After they had broken their fast, Kella brought a light grey cotton cloak for Sansa and helped her adjust it to her dress.  
"Shall we go?" Petyr's enigmatic smirk shined when he opened the door and beckoned her to follow him outside.  
The weather wasn't much different to yesterday. The sky was clear and the sun was travelling towards its middle. Walking closely behind him, she followed him to the stables.  
"Lord Baelish." A short middle-aged man with barely any white hair on his head crept out of the amounts of wheat tossed all over the stable and greeted the lord with a bow. Sansa guessed he was the stableman.  
"Barth." Lord Baelish greeted the man with a nonchalant nod. "Prepare two horses for us, if you will."  
"Which ones, my lord?"  
Petyr turned to Sansa. Their eyes met. She felt like he was calculating her thoughts and movements.  
"The lady will choose hers." Petyr muttered at the end and guided Sansa further into the stables.  
"As you command, my lord."  
She could count at least ten horses; though from the first moment they walked in, one had caught her immediate attention.  
"That one." She pointed at the tall white horse with light brown mane.  
"His name is Fog." The stableman blurted out from behind them.  
"Get Stormwind for me." Petyr instructed him before walking outside with her to wait.  
She followed him silently, avoiding saying another word. As they waited, she averted her attention to the scenery around her. She wondered how they were supposed to ride on such a stony ground but she assumed Petyr knew what he was doing. _He needs me, he won't let me get hurt…_  
"Why did you choose that horse?" He suddenly asked her.  
She shrugged. "I just liked that one better."  
White for innocence. Brown for slight corruption. _His kisses…  
_The stableman didn't take long to walk out of the stable with their horses prepared with their reins and saddle. Sansa pulled herself up easily and mounted the horse. She had always preferred more lady-like activities but being taught how to ride was considered necessary by her father. Petyr mounted his horse as well and pulled the reins, bestriding away.  
"Follow me." He called to her over his shoulder.  
Her horse pranced after his. His steed was pure black and contrasted his white tunic. She caught up with him and rode beside him. They followed a pebbly path that led them out of that sparsely populated place. The rocks seemed to only be getting larger but the path was clear. They continued their course in silence and rode up a cragged hill. When they reached the top, Petyr stopped his horse and she imitated him. She didn't have time to wonder why they stopped; the scenery lying ahead of them took her breath away. They were facing the top part of the Narrow Sea, the part that met the Shivering Sea. It was the first time she saw the ocean. The horizon, dressed in a dark shade of blue, carried the water further that the eye could meet. She stared at the blue abyss with awe.  
"I figured you haven't seen the sea before." Petyr spoke calmly from next to her. His voice faded in her amazement. "There are so many places in the world but we don't have the time to see them all."  
Sansa had always been curious what the Free Cities looked like, how different the civilisation there was, even though her dreams rested in the castles of her own land. Life in Winterfell lacked the privilege of travelling, at least so far. She had asked her father once whether they would have to move when winter came. "The Starks will endure. They always had" he had told her. She valued and respected the Stark strength and endurance, even if it demolished her hopes and dreams of traveling. She could feel it running in her veins constantly now that she had been taken away from her home.  
"It's beautiful." She couldn't think of a better word for such a sight. _This is the first pleasant outcome of my rapture…_  
"The city of Braavos is almost straight ahead from where we are. Sometimes you can scarcely spot the curves of the land." Petyr pulled the reins of his horse and put an end to the pause of their course.  
Riding side by side, they went down the hill and approached the sea even more. The more they neared, the vaguer the path was becoming. They had to stop again and dismount. Lord Petyr tied their horses to a rock and they continued on foot. The wind was stronger there and it blew her auburn locks behind her shoulders. The smell of moisture mixed with salt coming from the sea pierced through her nostrils; exciting and invigorating. Petyr lend her a hand every time they had to jump off a rock in order to descend lower and reach the level of the water. When they finally arrived at the seaside, he guided her to a small pebbly shore that was hiding discreetly behind the huge rocks that covered the rest of the area. The breeze was blowing to the opposite direction, so the surface of the water was calm and it splashed the shore ever so lightly.  
Sansa kneeled down next to the sea and immersed her hand in it. It was cool and clear as crystal. Further ahead she spotted a small fish floating around. She had to smile, as it made her think of her mother. The sigil of House Tully was a fish. Lady Catelyn spoke of them sometimes; how she, Lysa, Edmure and Petyr used to fish at the river in Riverrun. Her father Lord Hoster wasn't always pleased with them, he considered it a non lady-like activity; but Catelyn loved it. She missed Riverrun and the fish, she had admitted to her one night, after a bedtime story.  
"Pretty, isn't it?" Lord Petyr stood next to her, with his gaze fixed ahead.  
She stood up and straightened her gown. The colour of his eyes matched the one of the water. Her cheeks burnt with a sudden flush and she imitated his staring afar.  
"Yes, it is. I've always wanted to see the sea." _But he knows that already, doesn't he?  
_"The sea is full of mysteries and opportunities. Many men invest in ships." His tone was thoughtful this time. Distant and pensive.  
"Even you?" She turned to look at him with sudden curiosity. She realised she knew more about his past than she did about his present.  
He chuckled at her question.  
"No. I've found that other kinds of business make better investments."  
She swallowed and held herself back from asking more about it. Considering his obscure persona, she didn't even want to know in what kind of business he was involved in.  
He flopped down on the gravels and beckoned her to do the same. Once she did, he unlaced his boots and took them off, rolled his breeches up to his knees and placed his legs in the water, up to his calves. She looked at him in surprise. _Why did he bring me here?  
_"Go ahead." The rosy colour returned to her cheeks and she rubbed her hands together nervously. She kept feeling as if he was looking inside her mind. _He is reading me like an open book…  
_She bit her lip and took off her boots hesitantly, lifting her gown to the level of her knees. The exposure intensified the blush that kept spreading on her face. With a side-glance she could see how amused he was. She closed her eyes when her legs sank in the shallow water. The feeling was new and overwhelming; nothing compared to a bath. The water felt more refreshing and exhilarating. Full of mysteries, he had said…  
She tilted her head back and smiled. She could see the sky even behind her closed eyelids. She listened to the water spattering the small stones. She felt the flows wrapping around her legs and drifting her away to unexplored places.  
A hand cupped her cheek and warm lips pressed to hers. For the first time, that didn't disturb her internal peace…


	7. Chapter 7

Was it the sea that had dragged her in a state of delirium?  
Sansa found herself lying on the gravels; though she was still, her hands and lips were moving as if she wasn't the one operating them. Dainty fingers grabbed black raven-like locks and tugged on them. Scarlet lips ignited with passion as he was devouring them. He was on top of her, clinging to her urgently; the breeze carried away his heavy breath and mixed it with the sound of the water hitting the shore ever so gently. His hands were tracing every inch of her body, as if to get to know it. On her arms, on her sides, on her hips, on her thighs, he was caressing her, so slowly and yet so ruthlessly. Like an intruder, his tongue slipped past her parted lips and tasted her ravenously. Every touch was new and exciting but also kind of frightening. He was seducing her and she was giving in. A stranger, an abductor, full of cunning and enigmas…She couldn't suppress a moan when he began grinding his hips against hers; due to her innocence, it was unexpected. His warm palms, steadily and expertly, were grazing her thighs, lifting her gown up along the way. Waves of shivering ran down her spine; she was breathless. Her heartbeat was raged and an unfamiliar warmth was streaming through her veins. _Is this what wanting feels like?  
_His soft lips descended from her mouth to her neck; as they brushed on her skin, in such an alluring manner, she gripped his hair and moaned again, not just once since he began biting and sucking on her neck. Like a magnet, his body was calling for hers and she responded by pressing against him. Her thoughts were ruffled and her body shaky. The most tremendous strike of desire came when he glided his hand on her inner thigh, so close to her private area that she had to gasp for air. The temptation he was offering to her was overwhelming but it wasn't right; not like this.  
"Petyr…" His first name slipped out without difficulty but their panting swallowed it.  
She tried to move but her body was captivated beneath his. His fingers were moving closer and closer and her legs had begun to quiver with anticipation. She pulled his hair with all the strength she could master in such a moment of weakness and she guided his face away from her neck, so they were facing each other.  
"Don't" she barely muttered. She feared he wouldn't listen but he proved her wrong.  
His hand rested on her exposed thigh and his grey-green eyes locked with hers. His pupils had magnified; _is it because of the craving?_ His breath was quick and his lips slightly swollen from the fierce kisses. They gazed into each other's eyes as if seeing them for the first time. No words were exchanged. Eventually, their breathing went back to normal and their tense bodies relaxed against each other. Only then did Sansa realise that her cheeks were burning as if she had set them on fire. Involuntarily, her fingers moved through his hair; this time the grip was loose and her movements slow and…_affectionate? _He smiled at her wryly, slyly and she responded with a shy smile of her own. Her eyes fluttered shut when Petyr leaned closer and planted three warm kisses on the side of her face. She felt him shifting and rolling off, only to lie next to her instead.  
Humming seagulls flew above them and moved in circles in the sky, their white colour contrasting the blue. Sansa had always preferred other birds that chirped more melodically, but their presence came along with the sea. She could focus on its smell again as well as the feeling of the tiny waves oftentimes splashing her feet. All those sensations had vanished when he had lit up the fire between them.  
She dared to turn her head to the side and look at him; he was staring at the sky but his expression reflected no emotion. Their hands were laid next to each other but they weren't touching. She swallowed thickly and the words that were on the tip of her tongue streamed out as whispers.  
"Why…why are you behaving like this with me if you are going to give me to Prince Joffrey?"  
She shuddered and looked away again. _Foolish girl, this is not a growing fondness, only vain pleasure and manipulation, _she scolded herself_._  
Her breath caught in her throat when Petyr took her hand. She could feel his gaze on her but she didn't have the courage to meet his piercing eyes.  
"To get what we want, sometimes we must go through a tough road first" he muttered.  
He squeezed her hand and brushed his thumb on its back. Every question she asked in hope of clarification of his actions only made her even more confused. The godswood, the feast, the rapture; was it her that he wanted or was she just a pawn in his game, whose utter aim was Catelyn?  
"And what do you want?" This time their eyes met. She searched the depths of his, desperately striving to find a spark of honesty.  
"Everything" he responded vaguely after a few seconds.  
The epiphany left her staring at him, with curiosity, surprise and contemplation. As if she wasn't participant in the moment, she watched him leaning in to kiss her one more time briefly before sitting up on the small stones. The seagulls were gone and the white on the sky was now due to the clouds that had begun gathering.  
"We should head back. It might start raining soon" he stated while putting his boots back on.  
She didn't want to leave but there was no choice. The sea had been exhilarating and revealing. When they would have returned, it would only feel like an illusion; like a dream. She sat up too and pulled her dress to its normal length, straightening the wrinkles his seductive hands had caused. She put on her boots and stood up, taking a moment to look at the sea one last time. The horizon appeared blurrier; mist had started falling and the wind, though soft, was becoming colder. _Perhaps one day we will return by the sea…_  
She bit the inside of her cheek when she felt his arms wrapping around her from the behind. His warm breath blew against her hair, her neck and her ear and his smooth lips brushed on her skin.  
"We will return, I promise you" he said as if he had read her thoughts. Another promise he could easily not keep. _Does it matter to him?  
_The kiss he placed on her neck said yes but her suspicion and caution said otherwise. He released her and the couple left the stony shore.

They found their horses where they had left them. Soon after they had mounted them and rode away, the sky was fully grey and raindrops began falling while they were still on the way. The barely habited place seemed even more lonely and sorrowful, quiet and isolated with the sound of the rain. Sansa pulled up her hood, protecting her auburn hair from being damp. Petyr didn't have that luxury. They left the horses at the stable and rushed back to the house. He stayed by her side at all times, even when it meant being more soaked by the rain.  
"Seven Hells, Lord Baelish!" Kella yelled once they were inside. She hurried to them with two freshly washed capes and tossed them over their shoulders. "Come on then, milady, sit by the fire" with a dutiful smile, she dragged Sansa at the corner of the room, to the fireplace.  
"Prepare dinner for us, Kella" Petyr commanded, shooting a strict look to the woman.  
She obeyed and left the two alone in the hall. The fire radiated warmth and light. Sansa thought of how much her mother enjoyed sitting by the fireplace in Winterfell. They would sew together sometimes. When her mother was busy, Old Nan narrated stories to her and her siblings. Bran and Arya always preferred those with knights, murder and war. Sansa preferred the ones about romance, castles, princes and princesses. Rickon was still too young to have a preference, though he accepted listening to all kinds of stories. She had to smile at the memory.  
"You should change into dry clothes, sweetling. We wouldn't want you catching a cold now, would we?" Lord Baelish spoke as he sat on the divan next to her.  
She nodded and looked at him. His wet, short black locks had stuck on his forehead, dripping with raindrops as if he was the sky. A strongest wave of warmth ran through her; _did the fire grow bigger?  
_"If this is your home-place, why do you have no family here?" she asked him suddenly. Every time she was in the hall, she couldn't help but notice that there were no portraits or statues of descendants nor items that seemed to have a sentimental family value.  
_Are all my questions so funny_, she pondered when his usual smirk flashed on his face.  
"My father was the last one left. He died a few years back" he shrugged. "That is why I am the lord here now."  
It was strange to think that a place like this actually had a lord. During her education with Maester Luwin, House Baelish wasn't even mentioned in the history of noble houses. She guessed it was truly small.  
Silence fell between the two of them. She had to rise and change clothes but the fire was demanding from her to stay. She held her cold hands close to the burning wood and allowed the flames to caress them with their heat.  
"Here, let me." Before she could retort, he took her hands and held them loosely.  
She was startled by how warm his hands were, even though the rain had doused him more than her. Her cheeks began to burn due to his cosy grasp. The flames danced in his gleaming grey-green eyes and his wet lips glistened. _I should go…I should go before he hexes me again…  
_Their hands were resting on his lap, upon the wet fabric of his breeches. His tunic was just as soaked, beneath the cape Kella had provided him with. They both ought to change but neither of them made a move to do so. A thunder struck outside and its light flashed through the windows. It made her jump but his hold tightened and comforted her instantly.  
"Storms strike this place often, I'm afraid" he rustled.  
"We didn't have storms often in Winterfell…just rain and snow" she recollected. Robb liked the rain but Rickon was afraid of if; therefore, his eldest brother would stay with him and recite stories about brave knights in battles under the rain.  
"You are not in Winterfell anymore" he reminded her with a quirk of his eyebrows. "The capital is south. The weather is much different there as well."  
She nodded in understanding of his words. She would have to adapt; just like she was adapting now; to the weather, to the place, to Kella, to him…  
She lowered her gaze to their hands; still clasped together, dried and warmer. _All these touches will have to end once I am betrothed to the prince, right?  
_Petyr's body leaned into hers and her eyes closed when his lips claimed hers. The kiss wasn't as hungry and feverish as by the sea. It was slow and sensual and still, it took her breath away. Her body felt like a mass of embers, seared not by the fire but by him. Their lips massaged together at such a slow pace that it tormented her with impatience. She opened her mouth a little, granting his tongue access to taste hers. She couldn't hear the striking thunders or the heavy rain anymore; only their breathing, hitching and quickening. She lost track of time just as she lost herself in his tantalising kiss.  
It was Petyr who pulled back, abruptly and hastily. He released her hands too and fixed his posture, as if he had been staring at the fire all this time. It took her a moment to realise why; Kella was back, serving the dining table with the plates.  
"You look like you've seen a ghost, milady" the woman said and gifted Sansa with a toothy smile.  
"No, I'm just…just hungry" she responded, unaware of how her voice managed to come out so steady.  
"You still haven't changed. Neither of you" Kella commented with a puff of disappointment. "Better hurry and do so or else your dinner will get cold."  
Sansa swallowed and looked at him, searching for an answer. He cast a side-glance towards her; she thought she saw a faint smile too.

They both left to change into dry clothes and reunite at dinner, which they had with stolen glances and secret yearning, unspoken and undisclosed. The night separated them again with formal wishes of peaceful sleep. The wishes of closeness and ignition were left unuttered and unexpressed.

On the morrow, she didn't see him.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the sixth night of his absence. "Council business", Kella had told her. What kind of Council business could be so urgent that he had to leave without telling her? _Stupid little girl, he has no obligation to inform you where he is and what he is doing…_  
The days had been even more tormenting and dull now that he was gone. Sansa would spend all her time sewing or reading books from a small library Kella had introduced her to, or she would plainly stare out of her window nostalgically. Sometimes she closed her eyes and pictured her home; Bran and Rickon running around, Arya trying to steal a sword and pretend to practice, Robb and Lady Catelyn watching them and father…how could she know for sure that father had returned? One evening she managed to sneak away from Kella and write down a letter but she got caught before she could send the raven. After that, the woman wouldn't let her out of her sight.  
_I should be in the capital by now. I should be betrothed to Prince Joffrey and perhaps see father, if Petyr is right, _she kept thinking that night as tears threatened to run down her cheeks. Never before had she encountered the feeling of being caged, helpless, desperate. The moonlight was coming through the window, colouring her "prison" with a silver shade. She pressed her palm on the glass and sighed. _Let me out…_  
She could hear the wind whistling, whispering secrets to lonely ears. The candle on her night-table went out and darkness fought to prevail. There was a knock on the door which she thought imaginary.  
"Yes?" Remembering the manners she had been taught, she tried to sound as less exasperated as possible; Kella always checked up on her every night before it was time to sleep.  
The door opened and Sansa's heart jumped; _with surprise?_ She stood up instantly and swallowed thickly.  
"Lord Baelish" she muttered weakly. "You are back."  
Petyr smiled at her widely, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him noiselessly. Sansa clasped her hands together, realising that they had begun shaking. She remained serious and still but her moonlit blue eyes gleamed. _Is it normal to feel grateful for the return of my kidnapper? _  
"I apologise for leaving in such a short notice. I received a raven with more news from the capital." He whispered and stood next to the window. The moon illuminated him.  
Sansa nodded. If he wanted her to know what the matter was, he would tell her. It would be unwise to ask him. "I'm glad you've come" she murmured and lowered her eyes regretfully.  
He chuckled under his breath and snaked a sneaky arm around her waist.  
"We are leaving for the capital on the morrow. King Robert has left for the North, to ask your father to be his Hand. Chances are your father will accept and return with the King." He seemed as certain of his assumptions as he always did. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.  
"So…my father is in Winterfell? Safe?" _Alive, _she thought but didn't say another word.  
"Yes, sweetling" Petyr replied and kissed her temple.  
It made her shiver but she tried to stay focused.  
"How can you know that he will accept the King's suggestion?" She dared to ask and meet his gaze.  
He shrugged and kissed her again, this time closer to her ear. "Robert is King as well as your father's best friend. It won't be easy to leave his family behind but…Ned Stark is a dutiful man. He will do what he has to do."  
Sansa frowned with disbelief. _My mother, my siblings, he will just leave them all behind?  
_"I dare say that this is a game, sweetling. Right now, the pawns are moving" He added as his warm lips reached her ear and caressed it smoothly.  
She opened her mouth to speak but he pressed a finger to her lips.  
"We will travel by ship. If the wind is in our favour, it will only take a few days" Petyr's grey-green eyes narrowed. "During our voyage, I will fill you in about the story you are going to narrate over and over again when we arrive. You are not to speak about what truly happened" Her earlobe was now between his lips and his tongue was tasting it. She bit the inside of her cheek.  
"Why? Why should I lie? What stops me from telling the truth?" She breathed out and closed her eyes.  
"Because no one would believe you…because the consequences would be detrimental, I assure you."  
His voice was a menacing hiss and his mouth a greedy hunter as it travelled on her skin.  
"You will reunite with your father and be betrothed to a prince, heir to the throne. That is worth the trouble, is it not?" He whispered right before his lips captured hers.  
Feebly she tried to pull away but his alluring kiss didn't fail to once again captivate her. He grasped her arms and brought them around his neck. She didn't resist. She shivered as he tugged her closer and her heart pounded louder. As their moist lips massaged each other, she felt herself letting go. Succumbing to darkness, to temptation, to affection…  
Their lips ignited and passion conquered them. They walked on fire and ended up on her bed, bodies pressed to each other. Her hands stroked his back up and down while he was undoing the few laces of her gown. He had to guide her hands to his tunic and help her unlace it until his chest was revealed. Shyly and inexpertly, her hands travelled on his skin. Her touch was so smooth that it made him groan. Her gown was firstly removed and his tunic followed. He closed the distance between their chests and they both felt each other's racing heartbeat. Crippled by desire, Sansa sighed from the pleasure his exploring touches were giving her. When his greedy mouth went down to her collarbone and cleavage, she grabbed his short hair and tugged on it instinctively. The lower he went, the more she shivered. He kissed her stomach, her inner thighs and her most sensitive area. He tasted the moist warmth ravenously and she moaned with unbearable anticipation. He freed himself of his breeches and came up to claim her lips again. She could taste the unfamiliar bitter taste on his mouth; what was it that made it so tantalising? His name spilled out of her lips when he hooked her legs around his hips; he responded with a soft moan of her own name. She winced when he entered her, and bled but only a little. Her nails dag in his back and scratched it as they began moving together as one. The pace was slow at first but the deeper he went, the more he sped up. Sansa's mind was blank but her heart was full. Her oceanic blue eyes stared in his grey-green ones and her rapid breath mixed with his. This kind of pleasure was a whole new sensation to her; one she couldn't describe nor compare. His name occasionally escaped amongst her sighs. She sounded pleading; she pleaded for this connection to never end. Atop of her, inside of her, making love to her, Petyr Baelish suddenly reflected her dreams of love. When he released his seed inside her tight walls, he said her name in the most seductive of whispers. She responded by reaching her peak and mixing her sacred juices with his. His skin felt sweaty and silky and his lips soft as they pressed to hers. She had lost control; of her heartbeat, of her body, of her mind. Petyr had embraced them all and he had made them his. Their tender kiss lingered and their hips slowed down and finally stopped. A large hand cupped her cheek and caressed it with sincere fondness. He pulled out of her and broke their kiss so their eyes could meet. She searched the emerald pools but he kept his thoughts locked away.  
Her rationale had abandoned her.  
"Don't leave" she whispered weakly and waved her dainty fingers through his hair.  
_Does any of this matter to him?  
_Those two words were enough to make a small wry smile creep on his face. She thought she saw him nod before he kissed her again. He lied down next to her on the small space that was left on her bed and drew her closer so that she could bury her face in his neck. They lied in silence; he was stroking her hair and she was tracing patterns on her chest. They didn't speak until sleep took them both. Embraced in the arms of the night, the dark stranger that used to haunt Sansa's dreams had turned into a lover.

For the first time, the sunlight didn't wake her up. Cosy and comfortable, she remained in repose until Petyr stirred. Landing back in reality, she refused to open her eyes and face him, as there was one single question taking over her mind. _What have I done?_  
His warm dry lips pressed against her forehead and his arms around her loosened. On this day, they were to depart for the capital.  
"Good morrow, sweetling" he muttered.  
She looked at him then and his tranquil expression soothed her. He pecked her lips and got out of bed. On his bare back she could spot several faint scratches; the realisation that she was the one who made them made her blush deeply. He spoke to her again after he was fully dressed.  
"We must depart soon. I will have Kella pack some gowns for you."  
_He said nothing about last night_, she noticed and fiddled with an auburn strand nervously, sat on the bed. She plainly nodded and watched him leaving. When he exited and closed the door, she sighed. _How can he change so much from one moment to another? Sometimes, he acts like he is two people._  
She was dressed when Kella joined her and helped her pack a couple of gowns for the voyage. When they were finished, they both descended to the main hall so Sansa could break her fast. Petyr wasn't there; he only appeared when she was done.  
"Time to go, sweetling. Come along." He beckoned her and she obeyed dutifully after biding goodbye to Kella.  
His cold, practical manner made her feel as if the kisses and the love-making had been a dream and now she had woken up. His blank expression, his steady voice, they stung her heart with hurtful poison_. How foolish have I been to actually think any of it matter to him…_  
Their horses had been prepared and they were waiting for them outside.  
"We will ride to the sea. There is a ship for us there" Lord Baelish declared as he climbed on his horse.  
The sea; the place where she had responded to his affection for the first time; and yet, he didn't even look at her when he mentioned it. Sansa's heart felt just like another stone such as those that had been surrounding her for the past week.  
Three men dressed in armour were escorting her and Lord Baelish. The silence during the horse-ride was deathly. She kept staring at the rocky ground blankly; the town and the previous night were left behind.

The ship was small, floating on the grey-green waters next to a hidden pier. There was a small flag with a painted stag on the mast. _House Baratheon_, Sansa thought. The House of the King.  
Only two of the guards came aboard with her and Petyr; the other one took the horses and fled; to return to the town, she guessed. The members of the crew were numbered, just enough to handle the ship. From the first moment she set foot on the deck, she could feel all the hungry gazes of men who had travelled the sea for far too long. Some of them even whistled or whispered to her as she walked past them; she shuddered but then she felt a comforting hand upon her arm. It was him.  
"Set sail. The sooner we arrive the better" she heard him commanding and everyone obeyed without objection.  
He led her down a small wooden staircase to the level below where the cabins were situated. The guards had already placed their packed items in the rooms he had instructed. Hers was right next to his.  
"I must speak to the captain. I will be on the deck." He spoke in a hurry and he kissed her on the cheek quickly before leaving her alone in her cabin.  
Sansa sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. Her tears were saltier than the sea.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun sank in the azure waters and rays of purple and orange coloured the twilight sky. Sansa's tears had dried and her heart had petrified. Right when she thought she had found her harbour, she found herself lost in deepest ocean.  
The voyage was making her queasy, so she spent the whole day in her cabin; alone and heavy-hearted. She never touched the food a guard had brought for her earlier. She stood next to the small circular window and stared outside blankly.  
_I wish mother were here. She would brush my hair and tell me stories and she would make me forget..._

There was a knock; she didn't respond but the door opened nevertheless. Petyr hadn't made an appearance all day until then.  
"Are you feeling seasick, sweetling?" He came close and laid his palms on her shoulders.  
He tried to kiss her on the lips but she turned away so his lips landed on her cheek. He didn't seem to bother.  
"For how long will we be travelling?" She asked quietly, nonchalantly.  
"If the wind doesn't change, a couple of days. Not long, do not fret." He rubbed her arms slowly as if to soothe her.  
_Why is he doing this? He proved how little he cares...  
_She frowned and walked away from him, circling the table in the middle of the cabin. She refused glancing at her bed; earlier when she had tried to lie down and rest, all she could see and hear was him atop of her, sighing and kissing her.  
He didn't move but his eyes narrowed and followed her.  
"I think it is high time we agree on what you are going to say once we arrive at the capital." Lord Baelish stroked his short beard. There was a hint of a crafty smile on his lips.  
Sansa looked at him and her eyes were colder than Winterfell's snow. She nodded, indicating that she was listening to him. _How foolish of me to even think he would talk about last night...  
_"By the time we arrive, Robert will be back from the North, along with your father. We will meet them at the Great Hall. Prince Joffrey will be there, as well as Queen Cersei." Petyr clasped his hands and continued. "I had asked for a month-long leave to return at my home-place and arrange family business. Or so they thought. On my way there, I heard the screams of a girl in the forest. There was a group of thieves and they held you captive. I saved you from them and once you revealed your identity and I heard the rumours about your father possibly coming to the capital as Hand of the King, I decided to take you with me."  
Sansa stared at him with wide gleaming eyes. She had been a pawn in his plan from the very beginning. He lied to the King, he came to Winterfell to meet her, he kidnapped her, he seduced her and now he would feed them all a lie and give her away. She shuddered, realising how little she must matter to him. _He doesn't want you. He wants to play the hero and be rewarded with power...  
_"And why would those thieves steal me? What was their motive and how did they do it?" Her calm tone reminded her of her mother.  
"Clever girl." Lord Baelish grinned. "One of them served your father and knowing your value as a lady, he arranged it. Not to mention your beauty" He came close to her again and stroked the auburn hair at the side of her face.  
She looked down but she didn't move away. The smooth touch made her heart jump, reminding her that she was alive.  
"And so I will reunite with my father and you will be rewarded for your kindness. Father will send me back to the North, with the rest of my family." She said, sounding more certain of herself this time.  
Yet her comment only made him cackle.  
"Why, you will tell him you want to stay of course. To be with him and the Prince. Robert always wanted to connect his House with your father's, due to their long-lasting friendship. Now that you will appear in front of him, it will be the perfect chance. No time to waste."  
"What if...What if I won't like Prince Joffrey?" Sansa raised her oceanic gaze, desperately searching for signs of emotion in the depths of his emerald hues.  
He stayed silent for a short time. _Could it be he wasn't expecting this question?_ His palm dropped to her shoulder and he smiled barely. His eyes lost hers when he finally responded.  
"You will."  
He turned around and walked away from her, returning by the window and looking outside; night had fallen. Something about the silence and the way he avoided looking at her persuaded her that his guard was on the edge of dropping; and he refused to let that happen.  
"Petyr..." her cheeks flushed with a rosy colour at the use of his first name. She gulped. "What happened to my father when he disappeared?"  
He looked at her over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow. His puzzled gaze made her shiver.  
"I can't tell you who tried to harm him, sweetling, for I don't know." _Is this a lie? _"But I can tell you this: Jon Arryn was growing old and weak. After his death, it is widely known that Robert would ask your father to be his Hand. Some people didn't want that, so they tried to harm him and get him out of the way so Robert had to ask someone else to fulfil that duty."  
"Who would be Hand if my father..."  
Silence.  
_He speaks of rivalries but father has no enemies...  
_Not yet, an inner voice whispered to her. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself defensively, fearfully.  
"How did you know that my father would survive?" She wrapped her arms around herself fearfully.  
"Let's say that I assisted him."  
"But you were in Winterfell."  
"I paid others to do it for me, how much exposure do you think I can bear?" The lord's eyes shined with craft.  
"But you don't know who exactly tried to harm him?" Sansa furrowed her eyebrows.  
"No. Men paid by some prominent family, apparently."  
"How did you know he was going to be harmed?" Her frown deepened suspiciously.  
"Rumours spread and I have many sources." His shoulders rolled in an indifferent shrug.  
The deafening silence returned.  
Could it be that he was being honest with her? If so, the world seemed to be far more wicked than she thought. His plan was cynical but the conspiracies that hid behind her father's disappearance appeared to be truly sinister.  
His back was facing her; Sansa stared at it and suddenly felt cold. Was it because of the night or because of the distance that had grown between them ever since the morning?  
"I need some air." She muttered and rushed out of the cabin.  
She heard no footsteps behind her; he wasn't following her. _Why would he?_  
She found herself alone on the deck. The wind struck her sensitive skin and the smell of the sea filled her lungs. She stood on the edge of the prow and looked ahead at the dark water lying ahead of the ship. The infinite distance it seemed to cover and the obscure colour engulfed her with terror. The boundless sea was intimidating and Sansa was overwhelmed with awe.  
As the ship was rocking on the waves, the saline odour was becoming more acute. Sansa gripped the rail to steady herself; vertigo had taken over her again. She yelped with surprise when a voice came from behind her unexpectedly. Barely stabilising herself, she turned around to face the sailor who had sneaked up behind her, quiet as a cat.  
"Do forgive me, milady, I ain't wanna frighten ya."  
Sansa could tell the sailor was foreign. His teeth were yellow and his cheeks covered with a messy beard. His accent was one she did not recognise.  
"Me name's Edwyn, milady." The man stepped closer and grasped the rails next to each one of her sides, imprisoning her.  
His breath smelled of wine and his clothing of sweat and salt.  
" 'Tis a pretty night, milady. Not as pretty as yer."  
He tried to cling to her but Sansa pushed him back and walked away as fast as she could. He ran after her and before she could return inside, he grabbed her arm and threw her against the spar. Her back slammed against the wooden surface, sending a wave of pain down her spine. A hand covered her mouth forcefully whereas another was constrained to her chest and squeezed her breast. She tried to squirm, to shove, to scream but it was no use. Her heart was pounding with fear and her hands were feebly beating the sailor's chest. Her eyes were closed so she didn't witnessed what followed; she only heard.  
A blade sliced, a man gasped, someone collapsed and got dragged away. The last sound was a splash. Silence followed and raindrops started falling.  
Sansa was trembling, crippled by fear. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, moistening her skin like the light rain moistened her gown. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably but she gathered all her courage and opened her eyes. The tears had blurred her vision but she managed to spot the figure of a man coming towards her. She whimpered dreadfully but the two arms that wrapped around her felt familiar. She was pulled in a protective embrace. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled the minty scent she had come to long for. Her hands were on Petyr's chest, formed in fists, holding the fabric of his cloak ever so tightly. He rubbed her back comfortingly and held her for a long time. Eventually the shaking stopped and so did the tears.  
_What had happened to the sailor? Did Petyr kill him?_  
Sansa allowed him to guide her down the staircase to the inside of the ship and this time at his personal cabin; it wasn't much different to hers. Only then did he let her out of his safe hold. He cupped her face and traced her cheekbones with his thumbs.  
"Do not be afraid, you are safe now. It's over." His tone was low and his voice soothing.  
She sniffled and met his grey-green eyes; the coldness had vanished and just like that day at the Fingers when she had stumbled, she could recognise a hint of concern in his pupils. _Could it be true? He cared?_  
"What hap..." she started but he pressed a finger to her lips.  
"It's over, sweetling. Do not worry, no one will harm you again." He whispered. "I won't let them." Petyr leaned upwards and placed a tender buss on her forehead.  
Sansa sighed and once the kiss was over, she laid her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes reluctantly, afraid to see the sailor coming at her; but she didn't. Petyr's fingers were stroking her hair and his protective aura enfolded her warmly. The longer she nestled in his arms, the more her shock and fear faded.  
After a while, Petyr laid her down on his bed and covered her with the fur. She didn't object nor resist. He sat on the edge of the mattress and held her hand. In the candlelight, she thought she saw his collar and silver mockingbird stained with red..._blood? _  
"Rest, sweetling. The morrow will be a better day, I promise you."  
He bent down and kissed the back of her hand. Sansa caught herself smiling barely.  
His fondness had returned and so had the warmth in her heart. She tried to squeeze his hand but she felt too feeble after all the squirming and fighting she had done.  
"Stay." She murmured as her eyelids fell shut.  
She drifted but right before sleep snatched her, Sansa heard one single word that she held onto for the next two years.  
"Always."


	10. Chapter 10

The next few days flowed as calmly as the ship did on the cerulean waters. The more they were nearing the capital, the more distant Petyr was becoming. He made no further endeavour to kiss her on the lips or be affectionate with her. He would only peck her cheek every morning when they met to break their fast and every night when they parted for sleep. The only comfort for Sansa's calcified heart was the forthcoming reunion with her father.

On the morn of the fourth day afloat, impelled by the sound of a horn, Sansa left her cabin and visited the deck. Before her stressful eyes she saw the location that she had been dreaming of ever since she was a little girl. The Red Keep; imperious and despotic, it was situated on the rocks of Aegon's Hill. She could spot the harbour, the walls, the roofs of the capital. She gaped in awe, admiring the royal site that coursed before her eyes. _My father is there...and the Prince. _For the first time in the past few days, Sansa smiled genuinely.  
"Built by Aegon the Conqueror, completed during the reign of Maegor I Targaryen" she heard his voice coming from behind her.  
There was an arm that snaked around her waist and drew her close to him; she succumbed passively.  
"Do you remember the tale you are going to sell?" Petyr muttered against her hair.  
"I do." She responded and pulled away from his captivatingly enticing embrace.  
"Smile, sweetling. Soon you will be meeting Prince Joffrey."  
"I don't want Prince Joffrey" she retorted impulsively.  
With her head lowered she walked to the rail and watched the small obscure waves of blue that rocked the ship ever so gently. _What was I thinking? Of course I want the Prince, he will be brave and gallant and royal and our babies will be beautiful princes and princesses..._Engulfed in regret, she didn't even notice that Petyr was standing next to her. She only realised it when his palm ran down her shoulder and arm smoothly. _Should I tell him the truth?_  
"I still remember..." she started, ignoring the internal voice that yelled at her to keep silent. "I still remember t...that night." Her voice broke and an icy tear gushed down her cheek.  
He was clever enough to understand which night she was referring to. He sighed and waved his fingers through her auburn hair. His voice was so low that she could barely hear it.  
"That night is over. It faded into nothing. It cannot be, Sansa." Every word was yet another poisoned arrow to her heart. "I have nothing to offer you."  
Her cheeks were now showered with teardrops. And yet there was still a wilful power in her chest that coaxed her into turning to him and taking his face between her hands. Even with blurred, teary vision she could tell that he looked startled.  
"I have a lot to offer you, though. We could go to the North and live there together. We could wed, we could be happy." _Couldn't we?  
_The vanity of her hope was ruinous. His expression had softened and his hands cupped her face similarly to the way she had. There was a funereal silence between them, and the words their eyes exchanged remained wordless and sacredly concealed.  
"There will come a day when we will be together. I promise you that." Petyr sounded perilously honest. It was the undefined time that lunged Sansa's aching heart.  
Before she could blurt out more foolish words, his mouth crushed on hers forcefully. Their lips and tongues battled with igneous passion and unbearable desperation. They broke apart after a long time, with sore and swollen lips. The goodbye their hearts exchanged was tacit and unspoken.

The ship anchored at the harbour by the time of sunset. Lord Baelish and Sansa got off the ship and trod next to the canal, escorted by the guards that had travelled with them from the Fingers. They dived deeper into the streets of the capital, destining to arrive at the castle. Some citizens greeted Lord Petyr, others simply eyed her with the same lust the sailors had. Luckily, their stroll didn't last long before they arrived at the entrance gate.  
"Lord Baelish. Welcome." One of the guards uttered with a smirk.  
"And who might this lovely lady be?" One of the others blurted out.  
"Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, now Hand of the King. Is that good enough for you, Ser?" Petyr cut him off with a shrewd smile.  
The knights glanced at each other with surprise but in the end they nodded.  
"The King and the Hand arrived earlier today. The Small Council meeting will be held tomorrow, we've heard. They were expecting you." The first knight announced.  
Lord Baelish responded with a firm bow of his head and walked through the gates.  
Sansa followed him and gazed around her new surroundings with amazement. Knights and high-born ladies were ambling around the hallways; some of them were silent, others were giggling, others were hissing. She stayed close to Petyr unquestioningly, with her hands clasped together awkwardly.  
"We will visit your father first, at the Tower of the Hand." he whispered in her ear.  
They ascended a long staircase on the way to the tower, whose tall windows guaranteed a fair view to the Blackwater Bay. Sansa's heart had begun racing with anticipation. She felt like treading on clouds of dreams and soon she would wake up. Right when their ascent had ended and Petyr was about to knock on the door before them, a familiar voice echoed in the corridor.  
"Sansa?!"  
The little girl who ran towards them could barely be seen in the shadows, and she was so quick that the torches couldn't illuminate her. She ran straight into Sansa's arms and embraced her so tightly that it made her sister gasp.  
"Is it really you?" Arya looked up at her sister and her dark brown eyes, usually tough and determined, they were now filled with tears. "Where have you been?! Seven Hells, we were all so worried! Mother cried day and night...who is this?" The little Stark girl glanced at Petyr with a suspicious frown.  
He welcomed her caution with a sly smirk.  
"This is Lord Petyr Baelish. He is the one who found me...he saved me and he brought me here after having heard that father would be Hand of the King." Sansa responded without hesitation and touched her sister's cheek. Her smile was kind and pure, no matter the lie she had just blurted out. She had been repeating the fraud story during the voyage and by now she was able to spill it out like it was the truth. "We can talk more about this later. Where is father?"  
Arya took her sister by the hand and knocked on the door. It was Septa Mordane who opened it and yelped at the sight of the eldest Stark daughter. She took Sansa's face between her palms and kissed her brow, murmuring incessant blessings and gratitude to the Gods.  
Petyr had been watching the continuous reunions in silence. His grey-green eyes, severe and obscure, they gleamed with silver moonlight and followed the visage of his desire. He only spoke when she was about to enter the chamber of the Hand.  
"Sansa" he whispered, grasping her arm. "I think it's better if I leave you alone with your family for now. We will meet again." His faint smile was evidently reassuring, though in truth it was made of futility and lethe. 

"I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me." Petyr seized the opportunity to greet the Hand as soon as he had entered the Small Council chamber.  
"She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well." Ned responded with noble tranquillity.  
"All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem. From navel to collarbone." The Master of Coin responded by gliding his fingers respectively to the mentioned places.  
"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with." There was a shadow of a smile on the Winter lord's face; one that faded instantly when Petyr answered.  
"But it wasn't the man that I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'd agree." Lord Baelish had triumphed.  
Easing the two rivals out of the awkward position, Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted their antagonistic dialogue.  
"I humbly beg your pardon, my lord Stark, I heard about your daughter being found. We are all pleased to hear she has been retrieved safely, just like yourself after your adventure."  
"A lovely maiden. I saw her with Joffrey earlier in the gardens. Poor girl." Renly Baratheon joked and took his seat next to Ned. "My brother spoke of a betrothal already this morning."  
The Hand's chestnut oculars found the Master of Coin. His smirk was still patent and victorious.  
"I suppose I must thank you, Lord Baelish. If it weren't for you, I can't imagine the agony and woe my daughter would still be going through." Ned spoke as if he had swallowed a twig. "Your kindness will be remembered and rewarded."  
Petyr gave him a firm nod of deceptive integrity.  
"Oh, I forget something." Pycelle mumbled again, taking a pin out of his pocket and handing it over to the Stark lord. It was the pin of the Hand of the King. "This belongs to you now."  
Eddard examined the pin and the shape engraved upon it; the pin that his old friend Jon Arryn used to wear until his recent, tragic end.  
"Should we begin?" Grand Maester Pycelle rambled.  
That took Ned by surprise.  
"Without the King?"  
"Winter may be coming but I'm afraid the same cannot be said about my brother." The youngest Baratheon teased.  
"His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load." Lord Varys was the one who explained with skilled composure.  
"We are the lords of small matters here." Petyr Baelish declared with amusement, manifesting his self-satisfaction with his own remark. 

"Do I really have to go? I mean, father could arrange it without me." Sansa stared at her reflection in the mirror and grimaced as the comb came across to a knot in her hair. "Careful."  
Septa Mordane paused and sighed, though her exasperation remained hidden. She carried on and smiled with serene kindness.  
"Your father is not one to give you away just because the King wants to join your Houses." She observed. "And you have known the Prince for...since this morning? It would be truly rushed."  
"But I want to marry him" Sansa turned to look at the Septa pleadingly, right in the eyes. "He is handsome and he likes me. We will wed and have babies with beautiful blond hair...and blue eyes." Her smile was dreamy and her mind floated to the morning of that day, when she went for a walk with the Prince. He had been warm and nice and every time their eyes met, her cheeks would blush instinctively.  
_Can it be that this story had such a happy ending? I will marry him and we will be happy and one day we will rule the Seven Kingdoms..._  
_And what about Petyr_, a voice inside her head retorted.  
"Tell your father how you feel, child. He will listen, though I do think it would have been better if your mother were here to advise you...but your brothers need her, after what happened to poor Bran. Have you written to her yet? I shall leave you to it." The Septa curtsied and left the Stark lady to her privacy, alone in her chamber.  
Sansa didn't react. Standing in front of the mirror, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander. She cogitated of lips grazing her neck, her shoulder, her chest; familiar lips that had ignited her skin and devoured her heart ever since. His breath had brushed against her ear and his minty scent had strangled her sweetly. She pressed her two hands right above her heart; her heart that was sick with fondness for a man of apathy and self-interest. A man that lusted for power and yet she had mistaken him for smitten. She had given her maidenhead to someone who didn't love her, to someone who wasn't wed to her. She had shamed her duty and her family but no one could ever know; her chagrin was meant to be carried by her alone.  
The Master of Coin, the Master of Lies, who had cloaked her heart and mind in a cocoon of fraudulent affection, he had to be forgotten.

At dinner, Lord Stark and his two daughters joined the King, the Queen Regent and their three children; Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. The match was arranged and agreed upon. The rushed betrothal was sealed.  
On the way back to her chambers, Sansa saw him from far away; dressed in a brown tunic and with a book in his hand. He was alone and having felt her intense stare, he looked at her direction. He showed no signs of recognition or familiarity, and he walked away.  
Petyr Baelish was once again a stranger to her.


	11. Chapter 11

\- A few months later -

"Ser Ilyn…bring me his head!" Joffrey hissed ignominiously.  
"No!" Sansa screamed and tried to squirm away from knight who suddenly seized her. "Someone stop him!"  
The blood was pumping violently in her veins with mere desperation and rage. She thought her father looked at her through the bloody waterfall that had dried on his face. The crowd was yelling, pleased with their King's inhuman decision. They sounded like hungry crocodiles, begging to eat their prey.  
"My son, this is madness." Sansa heard the queen grousing to her son but it was no use.  
"Put him down!" Joffrey commanded instead, ignoring the cries of despair and wretchedness of his betrothed.  
Sansa wriggled and floundered but the knight didn't loosen his grip.  
"NO!" she was yelling amongst the shouts of the crowd. "NO!"  
"Traitor!" Everyone else was cheering.  
Her father was on his knees. A metallic sound echoed as Ser Ilyn drew the large sword and lifted it on the air.  
"Stop him! Stop!" Sansa shouted with anguish. Her knees were becoming weak and her eyes blurred with tears.  
For half a heartbeat she glanced at the man who stood a step below her, next to Varys. A stranger in a brown tunic and a silver mockingbird on his collar, with black hair like tar; as pitchy as his soul. He whispered something to the bald lord next to him and looked at her over his shoulder. Their eyes locked for just a second; there was no concern in his emerald oculars; no compassion. There was only an abyss of darkness and apathy that made her heart choke and suffocate, before he turned his back to her again.  
She looked at her father. His head was lowered and his neck exposed. Amongst her cries of desperation and agony there was a loud thud; a nightmarish slice, deep and freaky, that separated head from body. Sansa's senses abandoned her at the ghastly sight and she collapsed. Gloom engulfed her; the same gloom she had seen in his eyes and in his soul.

The third night after her Eddard's death came but the pain hadn't lessened. Joffrey had Septa Mordane murdered as well and forced Sansa to look at their heads nailed on spikes. The vile image had been haunting her ever since.  
"Leave me" Sansa grumbled at the handmaiden that had been following her around for the past three days.  
_No doubt she is spying on me for the Queen_, Sansa thought as the girl curtsied and walked away. How quiet the corridors were without Arya running around chasing cats. The youngest Stark daughter had disappeared the day their father was sentenced to death.  
Sansa entered her chambers and shut the door soundlessly. The candlelight was dim and there was an aroma of oil dwelling in the air. She walked across the room and stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes had been foggy with tears ever since the recent loss of her father.  
_My father is gone, my sister is gone, my Septa is gone...I am all alone against Joffrey's and the Queen's abuse and torment..._  
A rogue tear flowed down the smoothness of her cheek and rested on the corner of her mouth so she could taste its salty flavour that carried all the heavy burden of sorrow and abandonment that had been cast upon her like a strangling shadow.  
As she stepped away from the mirror, she noticed that there was someone standing at the balcony. She squealed with surprise and affright and pressed her hands against her bosom. _Can it be Joffrey?_  
"Who's there?" she whimpered.  
The night breeze blew with a shuddering hiss and scattered the curtain that separated the room and the balcony. The dark masculine figure responded to her call and came inside with slow prideful steps.  
Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach turned. Could it be that grief had made her delirious?  
"W-What are you doing here?" she blurted out breathlessly.  
Petyr Baelish's posture was lordly and imperious. His grey-green eyes were void and his pupils reflected the feeble candlelight. He stood at a safe formal distance from her.  
_A stranger._  
"I came to see you" he responded in a serene croon.  
Sansa huffed and folded her arms over her chest defensively. _Is he going to play the same game again?_  
"Well, here I am. What do you want?" A perfectly shaped auburn eyebrow perked skywards.  
If her hostility had upset him, his face still remained blank like a white page.  
"I wanted to see how you have been faring."  
This time it was sarcasm and irritation that washed over her watchful figure.  
"How do you think?!" She spat out at him and turned away, so he couldn't see the mist that had returned to her eyes.  
She heard his boots treading lightly on the cold stone. His hand touched her shoulder but she flinched away, refusing to look at him before she had blinked away all the menacing tears.  
"Sansa, I want to help you" he whispered soothingly but she was far from being mitigated.  
"Help me?" she gasped and faced him.  
Her azure optics were cold and crystal as ice; like her bruised heart.  
"Help me?" she repeated, enraged like never before. "Haven't you done enough? You brought me here. You gave me to /him/. That monster." She cried out and succumbed to the tears of wrath and unbearable ache.  
Petyr was now frowning, taken aback by her outburst. He came closer to her and wetted his lips, preparing to retort but in the end he said nothing. A torturous silence fell between them as they were left boring into each other's eyes. He appeared to be calculating her.  
"Sansa, I didn't know what Joffrey was." He spoke quietly. "I did advise your father. He didn't listen. I couldn't know what Joffrey would do to him."  
"I don't believe you" she exclaimed and clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her vision was blurry with tears that carried on streaming down her flushed face. "You advised him, why didn't you save him? You could have."  
"No, I couldn't nor did I know Joffrey wasn't going to be merciful." He argued, retaining his tranquillity.  
"Oh, he was merciful. He gave my father a clean death. That's what he told me when he made me look at his head on a spike." This time Sansa's voice broke and her lips quivered.  
He reached for her but she backed away without second thought.  
"Don't touch me. This is all your fault. You brought me to him. You gave me to him, you allowed this betrothal. You encouraged it. Look at me now. Are you happy now?" She outcried and glared at him.  
Her whole frame was trembling with martyrdom and her lips were bloated from the sobbing.  
If she hadn't known better, she would mistake Petyr's gaze for sympathetic; for empathetic, when all she could remember was the glance of apathy he had given her right before her father was decapitated.  
"Sansa, I didn't..." he started but she cut him off by raising her hand.  
"You know what. I wonder who the real monster is; the one who tortures me so awfully or the one who delivered me so easily to the hands of the beast...after pretending to care." Sansa swallowed thickly and stood her ground.  
He stared at her intently. One would say he appeared surprised and..._and wounded? He is not the sufferer. He got what he wanted. It is I who lost everything.  
_"Listen to me, Sansa" he began again and cupped her face between his palms.  
"No..." She shook her head and tried to pull away but he didn't let her go.  
"My sweet Sansa, listen to me."  
She met his grey-green eyes with reluctance; she had forgotten how captivating they were. His thumbs brushed on her cheeks, wiping away the petrified tears.  
"I didn't want this for you. I will fix it, I promise you. I told you..." He threw his net of affection at her but she didn't get caught.  
"You told me what? That one day we will be together?" She puffed vexedly. "You haven't even spoken to me ever since we came here. You haven't even come to see me."  
"I came now." He responded calmly.  
"So my father had to die for you to visit me?" Sansa ached to tell him to stop; every word was another drop of poison on her wrecked heart.  
He didn't answer. He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his lips in a thin line but didn't speak another word. He only gazed at her in a manner that could be described as fond if it weren't for him.  
Her disappointment and woe had exceeded their limits. She pulled away from the captivity of his hands and took a few steps back.  
"I will fix this. I will get you out of this. I will take you away from here when the time is right" He whispered with a sigh.  
"When the time is right" She repeated after him. "How many more people I love will have to die until then? My brothers? My...my mother?" She struck back at him, aware what a tough blow the mention of her mother would be.  
He managed to cover his wince with a simple twitch of his mouth.  
"I don't need more of your help. You have done enough. Now please go away." She hissed and turned her back to him. It was unbearable to look in his eyes any longer; the eyes that so successfully reflected hurt and regret.  
But he didn't walk away. She felt his fingertips brushing along her spine smoothly and slowly.  
"Sansa, I..." he murmured and clenched his jaw. When the next words were uttered, her heart stopped for a second. "I love you."  
She turned around quickly so they were facing each other again. There was a sudden spark of hope in his emerald optics until she slapped it away. His face jerked to the side and his eyes momentarily closed. His cheek reddened from the force of the slap.  
"How dare you say this to me..." She strived to sound determined but her voice betrayed her and broke. The moisture in her cerulean hues was renewed and tears of bittersweet heartbreak flowed down her face. _Hasn't this been what I wanted to hear ever since that night?_  
"It's the truth." He sounded so tormentingly reassuring that she raised her hand to strike him again but he caught her wrist and stopped her before her palm met his cheek.  
That took her by surprise. She gaped at him, feeling the ice in his forest green oculars creeping down her spine. His suave expression had been replaced by a menacing scowl.  
"Don't ever do that again." He whispered ominously.  
She gulped and glowered at him unfalteringly. His grip around her wrist tightened and he backed her to the nearest wall. He grabbed her second wrist and pinned them both to the cold solid surface behind her. She gasped but didn't oppose him. His warmth breath fondled her skin delicately as he leaned closer and closer until his lips crushed on hers hungrily. The familiar tantalising taste of mint was enough to crumble the stone that resided in her heart. A soft moan caught in her throat and her lips responded to his deep kiss. His tongue tasted her ruthlessly, mercilessly, and desperate longing arose. He guided her hands to join around his neck prior to occupying his own with ripping the thin fabric of her gown, leaving her lower navel exposed to his control and wandering touches on her warmth. Not even for a second did he break their fierce kiss, no matter how breathless they both were. He unlaced his breeches with haste eagerness and hooked her legs around his waist. With a hard thrust of his hips he buried his erected member deep inside her damp inner walls, making them both emit sighs of pleasure. Her dainty fingers slid through his short black hair and gripped it forcefully. His hips pounded against hers immensely and each one of his rough thrusts displayed fiery need and urgency. He was squeezing her thighs and she was pulling his locks violently as the night breeze muffled and carried away their loud moans of hedone. The erotic sensuality soon sent them over the edge and their amorous juices mixed, sealing their connection as one. There were left panting and sweating, with heartbeats incredibly rapid. Her fingers travelled down the sides of his face and her oceanic blue orbs searched his emerald ones. His hands soothed her quivering legs as he carried her away from the wall and laid her down on her bed. He freed her of the remains of her ripped gown and she tugged on his tunic which soon came off as well. He lied down beside her and she nestled in his long missed embrace. The ice was broken with fire. The anger was expelled and it was replaced by buried affection and longing that rose to the surface.  
"Don't leave me" were Sansa's last words that night before she drifted off to sleep, her head placed on Petyr's chest, right above his heart. His calmed heartbeat sang to her a song of love and gifted her with impassioned dreams instead of beheading nightmares.  
In the morning he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

\- Two years later –

The fog was growing thicker with every step they took and it swallowed the lights they had left behind. They were out in Blackwater Bay, the dark water breeding mist and deathly silence. Their companion stooped over the oars.  
"How far must we go?" Sansa asked.  
"No talk." The old oarsman's voice was tough and his posture strong and fierce. His wrinkled face appeared oddly familiar to her but she couldn't tell who he was.  
"Not far." Ser Dontos whispered, holding her hand gently. "Your friend is near, waiting for you."  
"No talk!" the oarsman bellowed. "Sound carries over water, Fool."  
Abashed, Sansa bit the inside of her cheek and sat down in silence. The rest was rowing, rowing, rowing.  
The eastern sky was hazy with the first ray of aurora when Sansa finally spotted a ghostly figure in the darkness ahead; a trading galley, her sails furled, floating slowly on a single bank of oars. As they approached, she saw the ship's figurehead, a merman with a golden crown blowing on a great seashell horn. She heard a voice yelling, and the galley swung slowly about.  
A rope ladder dropped over the rail once their boat came alongside the ship. "Up now. Go on, I got you." The oarsman hissed and helped Sansa to her feet. She thanked him for his kindness but he responded with an indifferent growl. Going up the rope ladder was easier than climbing down the cliff at the capital. The rower followed close behind her whereas Ser Dontos remained in the boat.  
Two sailors were waiting by the rail to help her onto the deck. Sansa was shaking. "She's cold" she heard someone say. He took off his cloak and put it securely around her shoulders. "There, is that better, my lady? Rest easy, the worst is past and done."  
She knew the voice. But he's in the Vale, she thought. Ser Lothor Brune stood beside him with a torch.  
"Petyr…" The flames illuminated his face; the face she hadn't seen for weeks; the face she hadn't touched for years; the face she kept dreaming of; the eyes she kept longing to get lost into; the lips her mouth yearned to collide with.  
"Fret not. It will all be better now." His façade was on but she could see beneath it.  
His fingertips brushed along the side of her face, sending comforting chills down her spine. If it weren't for the sailors being witnesses, she would have embraced him. He took her away from the capital, just like he had promised that night at her chamber. Could it be that he had condemned Joffrey to his doom as well?  
In the mist, Sansa's oceanic blue eyes met Petyr's grey-green ones and her palms rested on his tunic-covered shoulders. And he smiled because he knew.

\- The End -


	13. Note of the author

**Note of the author:**

First of all, I would like to thank everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed this story. I appreciate it more than I can tell.  
When I started writing this fic, I planned on giving it a completely different twist to the canon story. However, as I went on, the story itself led me to what it actually ended up to be. I suppose I am not very good at making story outlines.  
I apologise for the last chapter being so short but I had this scene in mind as an ending and I followed the stream of Sansa's chapter in "A Storm of Swords." Originally, I wanted a tragic ending for this fic – probably the death of one of the characters. In the end, I chose my second fetish which is a vague ending. You are left to imagine how their relationship continues from now on. I am really sorry if such an ending is disappointing.  
I also want to apologise for the big time jumps in the last two chapters; I only did it because it served the purpose of the story.  
Lastly, do forgive any mistakes in my writing but English is not my native language.  
Now, settle in a trading galley and float away in the mist, just like Petyr and Sansa did.  
Thank you.


End file.
